


Hollow Hearts

by Doctor_WTF



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Death, Child Abuse, F/M, Infant Death, M/M, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1363150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_WTF/pseuds/Doctor_WTF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time Molly Hooper asked something of him and he failed her. This is how it happened and what came after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lono/gifts), [fanficology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficology/gifts).



Molly Hooper had only ever asked him for three things. That in and of itself was an oddity.

The world was full of people who asked him for things, who wanted things from him. They pulled him in every direction asking, begging, demanding things of him until some days he felt so paper thin he worried that he might blow away. Sometimes they asked him for things to do with cases and he was happy to wrap up their mysteries and present the answer back to them as if it were a gift wrapped in a bow. Sometimes they wanted boring things of him – rent, an interview, a pleasant smile – and sometimes he acquiesced to their demands and sometimes he couldn’t be bothered. But they were always asking.

Molly Hooper never asked. Molly Hooper only gave. She gave him coffee and biscuits, not only when he asked but also when she simply thought he might want them. She gave him body parts and lab access and let him preform his borderline illegal experiments with nary a protest. She gave him presents, not only for Christmas but for his birthday too, even though he never reciprocated. She gave him kind smiles when he scowled at her and gentle words when he snapped. And when he needed her the most, when his life was on the line and he couldn’t yet see a way out, she gave him herself.

She saw him. Saw through his walls and confident demeanor and found the frightened man he’d hidden away and offered him a way out. She helped him fake his death, hid him, and kept his secrets. Every time he asked she answered, giving him more and more of herself until he was worried that the one who was going to blow away was her.

Even John asked for more. John who was one of the few who liked him even though he wasn’t required to – after all, he wasn’t a tenant, sibling, son, case solver for John – asked more of him. John asked him for little things, to be gentle with people, to go to the store, to pick up his clutter, to stop shooting the wall, but John still asked.

Molly never asked. Not out loud at least. He knew what she wanted anyway.

She wanted him to love her.

He couldn’t – wouldn’t – love her. He didn’t have a heart capable of it. The synapses of his brain were wired for deduction, not sentiment, and he couldn’t summon up the feelings he knew she craved. Molly would have been so easy to love. He saw it sometimes in the moments before he interrupted one of her dates. The easy smile on her lips that faded away when he approached. Saw it in the look of hope in her eyes that crashed into despair when he told her that he needed her, now, in the morgue. Sometimes it pained him to destroy her dates as he always did. Sometimes he was tempted to do as John asked and just settle for the pathologist Bart’s had on call and leave Molly alone. But the idea of losing her pained him more.

He knew domestic bliss would suit Molly. He could picture her in a house outside the city, two children – a boy and a girl – romping around the garden as she smiled and cooked dinner for the husband that was due home at any moment. She’d never be as thin as she was before bearing children, but he didn’t think that would be much of a problem. The weight would stay in her breasts and hips giving her the curves she currently lacked and adding shape to her bottom. Her husband would grab her by that waist; pull her in for a kiss as she smiled so brightly it hurt to think of it.

Children would also mean that Molly would give up work. She’d give up the long, irregular hours of the morgue and turn her attention to keeping her family safe and strong. She’d leave him alone at Bart’s, maybe sparing him a kiss on the cheek as she walked out the door for the final time, heading towards the life she’d always craved. He would be forced to settle for lesser pathologists. Forced to train in someone new to suit his needs. He couldn’t spare the time to train someone up. He wouldn’t lose her.

So he was forced to hurt her, time and again, until she slowly but surely gave up that dream she held so dear. He asked, demanded, things of her and, guileless and unknowing, she gave up her dream piece by piece until all that was left were her tears at night and an overly fed and loved cat.

Though she never said it out loud, Molly Hooper had only ever asked him to love her. It would have been so much easier for them both if he could have.

The second time Molly Hooper asked him for something, it wasn’t for herself.

Holding him so tightly she trembled, she had buried her face in the wool of his coat and begged him to one day come back. “Please,” she had gasped, voice near to sobs. “Just come back. Be careful out there and come back. Come back to John. And Mrs. Hudson. And Lestrade. And-and - please come back. Please.”

At the time he had thought about calling her a fool. After all, he hadn’t gone through all that trouble of faking his death just to die while dismantling Moriarty’s network. But with her arms wrapped around him and her tears soaking into his coat he couldn’t find the will to mock her. Instead he’d rested one of his own hands upon her back, bowed his head until his chin rested on top of her head, and closed his eyes.

“I’ll come back,” he promised. Her head was on his chest and he wondered if she was taking comfort from the steady beating of his heart. “After it’s all over, I will return. I swear it.”

It was the only promise to her he’d keep.

If his journeys took him through London he’d stop by sometimes to see her. He told himself it was for data collection, to find out how John and Mrs. Hudson were coping, but he had Mycroft’s reports for that. To be honest, he just wanted to see someone that was genuinely happy to see him. So he stopped in for tea, for breakfast, or to spend the week on her couch. He asked her about the people he’d left behind, about her work, and about the mysteries the Yard was failing to solve in his absence. Sometimes he broke into her flat late at night just to make sure she was still alright, that she was sleeping well, that her sudden and abrupt weight-loss trend was being kept in check, that she was eating. Sometimes he just sat on her couch, petting the ever increasing girth of Toby, until he heard Molly begin to stir. Those nights he left while she was still in the shower, never letting her know he’d been there at all.

Two years into his mission he found himself haunting her doorway for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint. His current lead was sending him to America. He should have been on a plane that instant headed across the sea towards the land of the free. He hadn’t seen Molly in months though. Hadn’t heard her voice in a span that felt like forever. He had missed her.

He had knocked gently on her door – it was late, he didn’t want to wake her neighbors – and smiled slightly when he heard her socked feet padding towards her door. She opened the door, wrapped in a tattered dressing gown, her eyes lighting up in delight as she saw though his disguise.

“It’s you,” she had whispered, breathlessly. She was grinning so widely it had to hurt.

“It’s me,” he had agreed, meeting her smile with a milder one of his own.

“Come in, come in,” she had said, stepping aside and granting him access. “Do you want tea? I could put on the kettle.”

He had shut the door behind him, sighed as he removed the glasses from his face and began to peel off his false beard. “Please,” he said, taking off his jacket and ginger wig.

Molly had busied herself in the kitchen, starting the kettle and pulling out his favorite tea. “Lestrade is once again giving it another go with his wife,” she had said, pulling a packet of his favorite biscuits from a cabinet and pulling out mugs. “He thinks that this time they’ve both grown up enough to make it work. And John says that Mrs. Hudson is seeing the café owner over on Crawford St. I’ve heard their falafel wraps are to die for.”

He had shooed a baleful looking Toby from the sofa and took the cat’s place, relaxing down into the soft cushions. “How is John?” he had asked quietly, watching Molly move confidently through her kitchen.

She had smiled warmly at her over her shoulder. “I think that he and Mary Morstan are starting to get serious about one another.”  
“John is serious about every woman he dates until he isn’t anymore,” he had scoffed as Molly brought over the tea and biscuits. He had smiled slightly, sipping the tea – just how he liked it – as Molly laughed.

“No, this time I think he’s really serious!” Molly had said, grinning. “You should see the look in his eyes when he talks about her, Sherlock. Mary’s really done wonders for John’s life and I think he’s just trying to build up the courage to propose.” She smiled and sat down next to him, very nearly wistful as she paused to sip her tea. “John will be wanting you to be his best man so you’ll have to hurry it up and-“ She stopped, suddenly frozen as she seemed to realize what she had been saying.

He had set aside his mug of tea as Molly flushed. “Molly,” he said softly.

“Oh, God, Sherlock. I-I didn’t mean it like that,” she had sputtered, eyes glued in embarrassment to some spot on the floor. “I-I know you’re working as hard as you can to dismantle Moriarty’s network and that you want to come back as soon as you can and-”

“You’re all moving on without me,” he hadn’t meant to say those words out loud. He had always known that it would happen. Had always known that eventually all the people who loved him would move on and forget him. His mission had been taking far longer than he had expected. He couldn’t expect everyone to wait for him forever. But he had never expected to vocalize it. He hadn’t meant to let loose one of the deepest worries lodged in his heart, but the words escaped and suddenly Molly was clutching his hand and staring into his eyes.

“We’re not moving on without you,” she had said earnestly, voice firm. “They all miss you, Sherlock. Not a day goes by without them thinking about you and wishing you were back.” Her eyes had brightened slightly with unshod tears. “What do you think we talk about when I see them? You’re always in our hearts and minds. They miss you. I may be the only one who knows that you’re alive, but I-I miss you too.”

He had stared at her blankly though untold emotions raged within him. “Some days I think you all would be better off if you forgot about me completely.”

“No, Sherlock,” Molly had said firmly, a hint of anger in her voice. “Just no! Our worlds are better when you’re around. We’re better when you’re around. Things won’t be the same until you come back to-“

To this day he wasn’t sure how it happened. He just knew that suddenly something within him broke and had found himself leaning forward, silencing Molly’s lips with his own as he reached out to crush her against him. She had gasped against his lips, her mouth opening, and he took that chance to deepen the kiss. He had watched John’s porn with detached interest, objectively observed couples on the street, he knew how this was supposed to go.

Molly’s stiffness melted away as her hands threaded through his hair, pulling him down. He moaned into her mouth as she licked the back of his teeth. She was too good to him, he thought to himself as he yanked open her dressing gown and pulled up her shirt to get access to her skin. Molly was always far too good to him. Always with a cup of his favorite tea a few minutes away, his favorite biscuits always stocked and ready for him, with the words he needed to hear always primed and ready to drop from her too kind lips. He wanted to believe the words she lied to him with. Wanted to believe that there would always be a place for him in Baker Street, that there would always be a place for him in his friends’ hearts.

Molly loved him, but he could never love her back. She knew it, she had to know it, but as long as she kept loving him maybe he could pretend nothing else would change as well. He could pretend that Mrs. Hudson would always keep 221B open for him, that Lestrade would always need help with his cases, that John-

That John would always be there waiting for an adventure.

He sucked at the base of her neck, carefully cataloging the gasp of delight she let out as he fumbled with her bra. “Sherlock!” she had gasped, clutching at his shirt. “What-“

“Shh,” he had hissed, silencing her with a searing kiss. “Molly I-“ he had wondered how to explain it to her. How to explain that he was trying to glue the rest of his world in place by cementing her feelings for him. Instead, he kissed her again, pressing himself against her. “Molly please. I need you.”

There was a flash in her eyes that had almost looked like hurt before she smiled weakly at him and nodded. “Of course,” she had sighed, nails raking up his back and causing him to shiver. She kissed him along his jaw, down his neck, across his shoulder. “Of course.”

After it was all over he had held her tightly as they laid together in her bed. He had counted her slowing breaths as the sweat cooled their bodies, waiting for her to tell him that she loved him. He nuzzled his head against her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her skin as she sleepily sighed and whispered the three words he’d been waiting for.

He had only felt relieved. Reassured that at least this part of his world was unchanged after all this time and hopeful that this meant the rest wouldn’t change as well. He had waited until she was deeply asleep before untangling himself from her. He fetched his clothing from where it had become scattered around the flat and carefully reapplied his disguise. Then, he had stepped back inside Molly’s bedroom. He watched the small woman sleep, watched the way her breath passed over slightly parted lips and the way she curled herself up underneath her blankets.

They hadn’t used protection, he realized absently, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead and pressing a kiss there. It would be alright he had reasoned, leaving the flat and quietly shutting and locking the door behind him. He had never been sexually active before and Molly had always been a clever girl, not the type to usually sleep around without preparation.

His body still curiously warm he’d exited the building and made his way to America. And while he never precisely dismissed his encounter with Molly from his mind he never thought of it again either.

Then three months later he’d made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

He’d gone straight to her flat from Northern Ireland, not even bothering to change his clothes or clean the dried blood from under his fingernails. His hands had clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into his flesh, and trembled as he stalked up the stairs to her third floor walk-up. He’d been angry. So angry he’d slammed open Molly’s door so hard the wedding picture of her parents fell off the wall and shattered on the floor.

Molly had been on the couch, but she leapt to her feet as he barged in, and dived for her phone with a little shriek. Toby streaked for cover, darting towards the bedroom to hide. He had stood there in her doorway, dirty and still a little bloody as he gasped for breathe and tried to keep his rage in check.

“Sherlock!” Molly had gasped, mobile now in her hand but making no move to use it. “You scared me half to death!” She had smiled at him uncertainly, her entire body screaming worry as he continued to glare at her. “Are-Are you alright?” she asked hesitantly. “Did something happen?”

He had hated her at that moment. Hated her more than he had ever thought he could hate another human being. Slowly he stepped into her flat, shutting the door ever so quietly behind him. He had gently slid the deadbolt and chain into place and had stood there a moment, still trembling, as he stared at the door. “How long?” he finally asked.

“How did you-?” He could hear her swallow raggedly. Could hear her compose herself and her lies. “Sherlock, I-I don’t understand. How long what?”

He had whirled to face her, taking a threatening step forward as she flinched back. “How long have you been working for him!?” he snapped, shouted, at her, rage darkening his voice as his hands clenched into fists once more.

Molly Hooper’s eyes had welled up in tears. Damn her and her faux innocence. Her brown doe eyes had widened in fear as he slowly stalked towards her. “I-I-I don’t understand. H-How long have I work for w-who?”

With every step he had taken forward she had taken a step back until her back had hit the wall and the look of panic on her face doubled as she had realized there was no more space to put between them. Stupid cow, he had thought to himself as he cornered her. She still had her phone in her hand, but she had made no move to use it. A foolish mistake. He had snatched the slightly battered mobile phone from her and carelessly tossed it over his shoulder, not caring when he heard its casing break on impact with the floor. He had slammed his hands against the wall, trapping Molly in place and she had gasped loudly, pupils dilating in fear as he towered over her.

“How long,” he asked slowly, drawing out the words as he had leaned down until they were eye level, “have you been working for Moriarty?”

Tears had started to leak from her eyes as she trembled before him. “S-Sherlock!” she had gasped. “I haven’t! I w-wouldn’t!”

“Don’t lie to me!” he had shouted, screamed, at her, slamming his fist against the wall.

Molly had shrieked a little at the noise, had started to sob a little as her hands came up to cover her mouth. “I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t!” she cried, flinching away from him.

“Was it all a joke to you?” he had asked lowly, staring with disgust at the sobbing woman before him. “A game? Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out? That I wouldn’t realize that he was alive?”

“Who? I-“

“Oh, come on Molly!” he had shouted, whirling away from her before the urge to harm her had become too great. “Moriarty’s alive. You helped him fake his death!”

The shock on Molly’s face had almost been believable. The confusion in her eyes had almost changed his mind. “No!” she had gasped loudly. “No, Sherlock I-“

“He told me,” he had growled through gritted teeth. Moriarty’s mocking laugh had twirled through his mind as he pointed a shaking finger at her. The shock of seeing Moriarty alive still shook him to his core. He had seen his greatest enemy alive and had frozen allowing the diabolical man to escape. The shorter man’s taunts still rang in his ears. His giggles as he had described how Molly had helped. His giggles as he had described how Molly had moaned beneath him after. “He told me how you helped him. How instrumental you were to tricking me. How the two of you laughed together after it was done. Two geniuses both faking their deaths with the aid of the same girl! How hilarious that must have been.”

“No,” Molly had gasped, shaking her head. “No, no, no, no, no. Sherlock!”

He had let his hands drop to his sides then. He had felt the rage melt away until only despair and disappointment filled him. His eyes had dropped away from her then. He could no longer bear to look at her. “I trusted you,” he had said lowly, whispered, as he stared at plush sofa where once he had laid so desperate to be loved. He had inhaled deeply, straightening as he turned to face the protesting, sobbing Molly for the final time. “I see now that my trust was misplaced. Goodbye Molly. You won’t be seeing me again.”

He had turned to leave then, ignoring Molly’s sobbed protests. He had unlocked her door and left, shaking himself free of the hands that tried to pull him back and the excuses she tried to weave. He had left her, sobbing and broken, in her doorway calling out for him and he hadn’t looked back.

Later, still dirty and bloody, he had sat in one of Mycroft’s black towncars and methodically began to delete Molly Hooper from his mind. He deleted her birthday first, her mobile number, her address. He deleted from his mind the way she took her coffee, her favorite telly programs, the way she smiled and laughed when she was truly delighted, and the way her face lit up when he entered the room. He deleted her awful jumpers – no real hardship – and the way she hummed in the kitchen as she cleaned the dishes, the breathless way she said his name, the way she coiled herself around him and moaned as they-

His head dropped into his hands and he trembled, biting his bottom lip so hard it bled. Breathing heavily he turned his attention to the world outside the car and resolved to think no more of Molly Hooper. He had Moriarty to hunt, a web of crime to dismantle and destroy. He had plans to plan, contacts to make, and leads to follow.

As he boarded the plan to India, he briefly found himself wishing that Molly would have had the courage to admit to him what she had done. That she could have looked him in the eye and been proud about tricking him rather than pretending to be confused and heartbroken. But then he was in the air and there was no more time to think about people that no longer mattered.

He pointedly did not think of Molly Hooper for the next six months.

And by the time he realized that Moriarty had been lying – stupid, stupid, of course Moriarty had lied! – it had been too late.

He had chased Moriarty back to London, chased him to an abandoned power station in Chelsea, chased his mocking laugh and teasing grin until he found the woman he hadn’t even known he had missed until she was bleeding out in his arms. He had found her in a makeshift clean room, the freshly scrubbed floors and spotless hospital equipment a stark contrast to the filthy factory just outside the room. The mattress she was chained to had already been soaked with blood, her hospital gown already more red then blue, the heart beat monitor already beginning to slow as he wrapped his arms around her.

Her eyes were glassy with pain, as she reached out and pressed her bloody palm against his suddenly wet cheek. “Sherlock,” she had gasped and he had wondered how he had ever deleted how soft her voice could sound. “Sherlock I, I never-“

“I know,” he had said firmly, holding her tightly as the heart monitor continued to beep weakly. “Moriarty lied.”

“Moriarty.” Her eyes had filled with tears. “Sherlock, he took – he took-“

He had placed his hand on her swollen stomach. “I know,” he said again although he hadn’t. Hadn’t known until he’d burst into the room drawn in by the sound of the slowing heart rate monitor and Molly’s soft moans. He hadn’t known Molly had been pregnant. He had thrown away every update Mycroft had sent him. Ignored his brother’s firm advice that he ‘check in on Doctor Hooper.’ At first it had been anger and rage, but soon it was shame that kept him from her. Shame that he had been tricked. Shame that he had believed it, that he had believed that Molly Hooper of all people had betrayed him.

“Please,” Molly gasped, clutching onto him with weak hands. “Please Sherlock. My baby. Don’t let him take her.”

It was the third time Molly Hooper had asked him for something. He would have given anything to make her wish come true.

He leaned his head down to hers, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ll get it back,” he swore. There was a faint roaring sound coming in from a distance. A helicopter. It was too early for Mycroft’s men. He had given himself too much time in this station alone. They wouldn’t get here in time to block Moriarty’s escape. Pressing a fierce kiss to her forehead, he untangled himself from Molly’s grip and carefully laid her back down on the blood-soaked bed. “John’s coming,” he told her as he had backed away, fearfully watching the heart rate monitor as it dipped again. “Just wait for him, do you hear me? Wait for John and do as he says and I’ll bring the baby to you. Understand?”

Molly had nodded weakly, her eyes going glassy. “It’s a girl,” she sighed dreamily, a smile tugging at her lips. “I can hear her crying.”

He could only hear the sound of helicopter blades rapidly getting closer. One last glance behind him and he ran from the room. He needed to get to the roof. Moriarty would be waiting for him there, eager to relive their last confrontation. Barreling up the stairs, he ground his teeth and willed his body faster. He would catch Moriarty and kill him and retrieve Molly’s daughter and-

There was a pink blanket on the final landing, waiting for him. He had stopped and stared at it, heart pounding, breath racing as his mind screamed and shut down. The sound of helicopter blades was deafening, Moriarty was just outside, but he stared down at the pink bundle and willed the image to go away. Lightly wrapped in the blanket was a baby. A girl. Blue from a lack of oxygen with her umbilical cord wrapped tightly around her neck. He staggered and fell, catching himself on hands and knees next to the bundle as he cried out for breathe. The infant was already cold. He trembled as he touched her and unwrapped the cord to check for a pulse.

He had closed his eyes tightly as tears threatened to overwhelm him. Molly Hooper had only ever asked him for three things. He could never love her as she wished and now-

Now he could never bring her daughter back to her either.

He pulled the blanket gently over the infant’s face. He stood slowly, face hard and eyes burning as he removed the gun from his pocket. He kicked open the door to the roof, bellowing Moriarty’s name, gun raised and ready to shoot. The helicopter was still there, blades whirling as Moriarty stepped towards the machine. At his shout, the shorter man looked back, grinning widely and twinkling his fingers as his eyes lit up in fiendish delight.

He aimed for between the other man’s eyes, finger on the trigger, determined to end this once and for all.

A shot rang out.

Sherlock gasped and fell to his knees.

A trap. Of course. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Moran had been lying in wait just beyond his line of sight. Moriarty had known that he would be blinded by rage, focused only on killing his foe. Moriarty would have known that and planned accordingly, setting his best marksman just out of sight to strike as soon as he was in view.

With a trembling arm he raised his gun once again.

Another shot and this time he found himself crumpling to the ground. His heart beat loudly in his ears, drowning out the roar of the helicopter. He clutched the gun tightly. There was always time for another shot. Always-

“Oh Sherlock, I’m disappointed with you,” Moriarty sneered, bending over and wresting the gun from him. “I mean really, Sherlock. Sentiment? Twice now? You really are one of the normal people, aren’t you?”

He meant to spit out a poisonous reply, to bring Moriarty low with his words and wit but instead found the taste of blood rushing through his mouth as he coughed. One of the bullets had punctured a lung he realized absently, his vision beginning to fade. “Moriarty,” he growled out, trying to rise himself up to strangle the life from him.

Moriarty’s foot stepped down on his shoulder, forcing him back down to the ground. “I have to say, while it’s been fun this end has been a long time coming,” he said with a sneer. “The end of the great detective!”

“Should we kill him?” Moran’s deep voice rumbled, footsteps coming closer.

“No,” Moriarty grinned. He stepped off Sherlock’s shoulder, heading back towards the warmed up helicopter. “He’ll bleed out soon enough, same as the lovely lady we left below. And if he doesn’t!” He giggled loudly, the sounded becoming downed out by the helicopter roar.

He groaned, trying to force himself back up, trying to find where the gun had gone. This needed to end. He had to destroy Moriarty for all he’d done, for everything he’d done to Molly. Raising himself up, he looked to the helicopter and froze. Moriarty was inside, a pink squirming bundle being handed into his arms. A little red face screamed and screamed, upset beyond words at the sound of helicopter blades with no ear protection to be seen. His heart thudded oddly in his chest. Twins or-? No. A diversion. To blind him with grief and make Molly think her daughter was gone. That he had failed her. Again.

Wiggling his fingers at him, Moriarty grinned as Moran closed the helicopter door. “Bye-bye Daddy!” he mouthed as the machine rose into the air.

Watching it go, feeling more than useless, Sherlock’s mind raced. They thought he was going to die just like Molly was dying below. That the police would just accept that the dead infant on the stair was Molly’s and never mount a search for her child. If Molly lived she would accept it too. Spend her entire life thinking that her baby was dead when it was in the hands of a madman and-

He gasped, vision starting to go dark as the helicopter faded into the distance. Live. He had to live. Had to prove that the infant on the stairs wasn’t hers. Had to get her child back for her.

Molly Hooper had only ever asked him for three things. As his vision went black he resolved that he could do for her this one.


	2. Chapter 2

For the first eight years of her life she went by Evey Moriarty. She rhymed the words together when she said them, smiling widely as she did a cute little gesture with her hands, making double V’s that turned into a M. It had made him laugh once and pat her fondly on the head and so she always did it hoping for the same result. He was much better when he was smiling or laughing. When he was happy it gave you more time, time to fade into the background or find a reason to leave the room before the smile could vanish from his face and he found himself in the mood for bruises and blood instead.

Sebby knew that. Sebby understood.

It was her guardian, her Sebby, that watched the mood of Papa Jim so carefully and always tried to send her away when it started getting dangerous. Sometimes Papa Jim didn’t let him though. Sometimes he glared at the big blond man and told Evey to come closer, to come sit on his lap or clamber onto the couch for a cuddle. Evey didn’t like those times. She didn’t like it when she was frozen against Papa Jim’s side as he played with her hair and met Sebby’s intense glare with a smirk.

It was odd childhood. There were moments when she was so blissfully happy that she thought that she was the luckiest little girl in the world. Times when Sebby took her fishing on his little boat or taught her how to shoot a rifle. He’d stand behind her with his big callused hand on her shoulder and tell her to slow her breathing down to nothing as she stared down the barrel through the scope. Sebby knew everything about guns. He taught her how to dismantle them, clean them, and put them back together. He taught her to calculate how the bullet would be affected by the wind and how to compensate. And the very first time she sniped a beer can at 1,000 meters with 20 km/hr wind he picked her up in a giant bear hug and twirled her around as she shrieked in delight as he laughed and said he would make a sniper of her yet.

She had Paul too. Paul who was big like Sebby but with dark eyes and skin where Sebby was blond and white. Paul had a big white smile and he’d use it on her frequently as he walked her around the grounds, her big personal shadow to keep the Bad Man away. She’d hold his big hand and not talk to him about the people he killed, Paul didn’t like to talk about that, but instead she’d tell him about the bugs they were looking at and the plants and why the sky was blue. Paul told her once that he wished he’d never started working for Papa Jim. When he was young he had wanted to go to college but there was no money and while Paul was big and tough he’d never been into sport. Evey was determined that when she grew up she’d marry Paul. They’d get a big house in the country and she’d send Paul to college and they’d never, ever worry about killing people ever again.

Even times with Papa Jim could be fun so long as she minded herself and kept a careful eye on his mood. Papa Jim loved to paint and sometimes, if he was happy and she was very good, he’d come into the salon and paint with her. He’d stand next to her easel and critique her painting, telling her that her obsession with painting what she actually saw was boring, and sometimes do a painting of his own. He’d tell her funny stories just to make her laugh while they painted together and he would steal all of her red paint. Afterward she’d admire his picture and Papa Jim would preen and maybe grace her with a hug. To be honest, she never liked Papa Jim’s pictures, they were always full of blood and gore and mad things, but it made Papa Jim happy to be praised and Evey liked her Papa Jim best when he was happy.

So to be honest it had to be said that she was often happy.

But there were bad times too. Bad times like when she was ripped out of bed in the early hours of the morning by Paul and Sebby. Paul barely remembering to grab Basil, her stuffed mouse and best friend, for her as they rushed her out. There was a Bad Man hunting them, Papa Jim would tell her sometimes. A Bad, Bad Man who wanted to pluck Evey’s eyes from her skull and drink her blood like wine.

Sometimes Evey didn’t believe him, Papa Jim loved to lie, but that didn’t matter much. All that mattered was that they took her with them, Basil wrapped tightly in her arms as she was handed up into the helicopter or put into the car or however they had to run away this time. She never saw the Bad Man, not once, but she learned his name, Sherlock, and remembered to give a little shiver for Papa Jim whenever he mentioned it. He liked it when she shivered for him.

There were bad times when Sebby was sent away to work. Paul could never get Papa Jim to do anything, only Sebby could do that, so when Papa Jim asked for her to be brought to the study she had to go. It was bad to be called to the study at night, worse if Papa Jim had been drinking before he’d called for her. He’d look at her, dark eyes full of menace and tell her to take a seat. Sometimes that would be all he did. Sometimes he would yell at her, demanding to know why she was failing him, why she wasn’t meeting his expectations, why was she ignoring all the violence he put in her way in his invitation to her to start and play. And sometimes he would hit her. The back of his hand would hit her cheek and she would make tears come to her eyes and cower because Papa Jim liked it when she was afraid of him.

Then there were the worst times. The times that she wished that she could forget, but didn’t dare in case Papa Jim asked her about them. Like the time Papa Jim woke her up during the night and carried her downstairs to the basement Sebby forbade her to enter. He petted her as she yawned, smiled at her brightly and told her to keep quiet and be a good little girl. He took her to a small dark room with a big metal table and two chairs in it and set her down.

“Be good now, Evey,” he said, smile brighter and she smiled back and shivered as he pulled out a roll of duct tape. But she was good. She didn’t protest when Papa Jim taped her to the chair, didn’t struggle when he pinched her skin as he giggled. She didn’t say anything when he told Alex, a man Sebby had warned her to stay far, far away from, to bring in their guests.

Alex smiled and his smile was like Papa Jim’s. Wide and white and a bit too mad. He brought in Josie, her nanny, and Paul in. They were bloody and bound and gagged. Evey’s eyes widened and her stomach twisted into knots to see them. That morning she had seen Paul and Josie kissing in the garden. She’d been furious with Paul, had told him she hated him and avoided them all day. Had Papa Jim heard? Had he done this because of her? She began to tremble.

“Do you know what these two did, Evey?” Papa Jim asked, walking over and grabbing Josie by the jaw. He wrenched her face up so that she was looking at her. “Well? Do you?”

“No, Papa Jim,” she said quietly, hoping against hope that he would just let them go. It didn’t matter who Paul kissed. Not really. She would let him kiss Josie every day and still love him if Papa Jim would just let them all go right now.

“These two traitors wanted to steal you away from me,” Papa Jim told her, dropping Josie’s face and going over to stand behind Paul. “They wanted to run away with you, get married. Pretend that you were their little daughter and turn you into their pet.” Paul was looking at her, horror in his big dark eyes as tears leaked out of them. Papa Jim kicked him in the side and Paul keeled over, collapsing against the ground. “They didn’t think I’d find out!”

Alex picked up Josie and put her on the table. He tied her down. Papa Jim came to sit in the chair next to her, smiling at her sweetly as he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Be sure and watch closely, poppet. This is what we do to traitors.”

Pulling a tray full of sharp knives up, Alex picked one up and began to cut Josie. Her nanny screamed as the blood began to drop down her arm, the sound loud and sharp through her gag. Papa Jim grinned and picked up a glass of red wine from the table next to him. “Make it last, Alex,” he cooed. “Make it hurt.”

Josie had screamed and screamed and bled and bled as Alex carefully removed the skin from her bones. He was slow, he took his time as he peeled the flesh back, doing his best to take it off all in one piece. Paul, poor Paul on the floor, tied up so he couldn’t even move had screamed with her. Tears had dropped from his eyes, soaking his gag and making the blood on his face run down like water. He looked over to Papa Jim and Evey thought he was trying to beg, but that just made Papa Jim laugh harder. When she was done, when Josie had stopped screaming and her blood ran out, Alex dropped her body into the corner and Papa Jim helped him put Paul up on the table.

She tried to close her eyes, she already felt faint and sweaty and sick from watching Josie die and wanted to go back to bed. She wanted to pretend that this had all been some horrible dream. That Josie would be there in the morning with breakfast and a smile, her face framed by soft blond hair instead of cut off. She wanted Paul to come in and ask her what she wanted to do that day. She wished that Paul and Josie had stolen her away. That they had run and found someplace where Papa Jim and Sebby could never find them. She would have been a good girl, a good pet. She would have called Paul ‘Daddy’ and Josie ‘Mummy’ and never let anyone know about the Papa Jim she’d left behind.

“Watch, poppet,” Papa Jim cooed into her ear, grabbing her chin tightly. “Watch.”

They burned Paul. Alex pushed red hot pokers to his flesh, into his flesh and made his beautiful cocoa skin darken and split and go red. Alex burned out his eyes, charred his fingers to bone, took off his gag and made him scream until his voice ran out.

“This is good,” Papa Jim said, pressing a kiss to her temple and cuddling close to her. “You and me, poppet, we should have done this ages ago.”

Paul didn’t look like Paul anymore by the time Sebby came. He looked like the roast for Sunday dinner and smelled a bit like it too. His skin was crispy and even darker brown and he was still very much awake and very much alive. Papa Jim had insisted that Alex take it slow to keep Paul that way. Said it would be boring if the big man passed out.

“What the fuck is going on?” Sebby had demanded, slamming the door open with a bang. He had a gun in his hand and didn’t look like he would be at all bothered to use it. Disgust came over his face as he surveyed the room. He looked at her and she looked back, a smile on her face.

Evey had learned hours ago to stop crying and to keep her eyes wide open as she watched. She’d learned to smile to hide her terror and to keep her tremors inside. She’d learned to look at the things that Alex did with detachment. He was burning an arm, not Paul’s arm, with the fireplace poker. He was putting red hot sewing needles into a leg, not Paul’s leg, and smiling as he did so. She kept it all inside and put a smile on the outside and that seemed to please Papa Jim. And that was good. Otherwise he might consider putting her on the table next.

“Fuck, Jim!” Sebby shouted, pushing Papa Jim aside and pulling a knife out of his pocket. He began to cut through the duct tape, his eyes focused on her to keep from cutting her. “What the hell were you thinking!?”

“We’re having a family bonding experience,” Papa Jim said, eyes glinting dangerously.

“She’s six!”

“She has to learn!”

“Like hell she does.” Freeing her, he’d scooped her up into his arms. She’d buried her face into his neck and clung to him with all her strength as he carried her from the room. He put a bullet into Paul’s head as they left, not even hesitating as he held her tight. It made her happy enough to cry.

Sebby carried her upstairs, put her back to bed, fetched Basil from the wardrobe where she’d taken to hiding him, and put him into her arms. Evey had held her stuffed mouse tightly, putting her face into his rough, battered fur and tried to keep everything locked up tight inside. She shook at the effort, the shaking worse when Sebby awkwardly put his arms around her.

“It’s okay, kid,” he said quietly, his voice rough. “It was a bad thing that happened. Let it all out.”

Throwing her arms around Sebby, she closed her eyes tightly and began to cry. Big hard tears, big hard sobs, as she keened into Sebby’s shoulder and wished that this night could just go away. All she wanted was Paul and Josie back.

Sebby never left for a job again after that. He told Papa Jim over breakfast that he couldn’t trust the smaller man alone with his own thoughts.

“They were traitors, Seb,” Papa Jim had growled at him, bacon drooping on his fork. “What would you have had me do with them?”

“They might have had to die, but you didn’t need to bring the kid into it!” Sebby had roared back.

A snort was all the Papa Jim would say in reply, but he turned his dark glare to her and smirked dangerously. “What’s the matter, poppet? Didn’t enjoy last night? Why aren’t you eating your breakfast?”

Evey had looked down at her plate of bacon and sausage and thought of Paul burning in Alex’s hands. “I had lots of fun,” she said quietly and picked up her fork. She shoveled the food into her mouth, not even tasting it as Papa Jim turned back to Sebby. “See! I told you it was a bonding experience!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **AN: Additional trigger warnings apply! Besides the child abuse, language, and violence there is also hints of non-con and rape! Nothing graphic, but it's there! Please do not read if these topics upset you!**

Her name was Irene Adler and, at seven, Evey thought she was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. Irene's hair was long and dark like hers and her face was pointed and pale. Her fingers were beautiful, long and slender and tipped with pointy red nails that matched her lipstick. She dressed in pretty clothes, silk and lace and velvet that Evey just wanted to bury her face into. Even her belly, so big and round was beautiful. Sometimes, if Evey was very brave she'd look at that belly and think about asking Irene if she could touch it, but Papa Jim had told her never to talk to the woman so she didn't.

Cobra, her new shadow, told her that Irene was going to have a baby. She didn't much like Cobra. He was bigger than both Paul and Sebby, but he was slow and stupid. When she tried to tell him about the flowers he looked at her blankly and he only wanted to talk to her about hunting and killing and manly things. Evey didn't like to hear about those things anymore. However, Cobra was too stupid to remember what he was and wasn't supposed to tell her so Evey got him tell her everything.

He told her that Irene and Papa Jim had a deal, that Irene had been in trouble and Papa Jim had offered her a way out. Nine months and a baby later, Irene would soon be free. To do what, Cobra didn't know but he smiled an ugly smile at Evey when he said he had some hopes.

"What's he going to do with the baby?" Evey asked, feet dangling into the water of the swimming pool. It was important to know these things. If Papa Jim was getting bored with her and wanting a new baby she'd have to figure out a way to get more interesting so she didn't get replaced.

"He's going to give it to that Sherlock bloke."

Evey had stared at him in disbelief. Papa Jim was going to give the baby to the Bad Man that hunted them? That didn't make any sense. "Why would he do that?"

Cobra shrugged and began to look bored. "The hell if I know. The boss does what he does."

This was true. No one told Papa Jim what to do. Not even Sebby could and Sebby was the only one who could make Papa Jim change his mind sometimes. So she went to Sebby and asked him why they would give the baby to the Bad Man.

Sebby glared down at her, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, kid. Who told you about that?"

She didn't answer him, just stared up and waited.

"Cobra," Sebby sighed, leaning back into his chair. "That fukkin retard. If he wasn't so good at what he does I'd have his balls for this." Sighing again, he looked down at her. "We're giving the baby to Sherlock as part of Jim's game."

"What game?"

Sebby shrugged. "I can't even keep track of it anymore, kid. All I know is that Sherlock fell for Jim's play in Amsterdam and Jim's been trying to get him back on the trail ever since." He frowned. "Listen to me, kid. Don't worry about this and don't go asking any more questions about this. And whatever you do, stay away from that Adler woman, okay? I don't need you getting attached. Not when she'll be out of the house and gone in a few weeks."

Evey nodded and agreed, going back to Cobra to ask him to take her to the garden to play. But while Evey tried to stay away from Irene, Irene didn't try and stay away from Evey.

"You must be Evelyn," Irene said, walking into the library as Evey read.

Looking up from her atlas, Evey nodded slightly. It was rude to ignore adults and she didn't want to be slapped again for being rude. Irene was wearing a big ring with lots of stones and those always hurt.

"I'm Irene, Irene Adler," the woman said, gingerly sitting down on the chair across from her. She was huge, ready to burst as Cobra put it, and moving looked to be hard for her. Evey wondered, not for the first time, why Irene would go through all this trouble just to give it to the Bad Man. With all the effort that seemed to go into making the baby, it didn't seem worth it to give it up.

"I know who you are," she said quietly, eyeing the door. Cobra had left to go get her a snack. He would be back soon and she didn't want to be seen talking to Irene.

"I know your father," Irene said, leaning forward as much as she could.

Evey didn't reply, tracing the contours of Africa with her index finger instead.

Reaching out, Irene grabbed the top of the book and pulled it down so she could see Evey's face. "I mean your real father, Evelyn. He and I, well, we have a plan. To get you out of here and back home where you'll be safe."

Evey eyed her wearily, and wondered if this was a test from her Papa Jim to trick her. "Was part of the plan to have a baby?" she asked.

Irene winced and leaned back into her seat, her hands coming up to wrap protectively around her stomach. "No," she whispered, rubbing herself gently. "It wasn't. But it'll be okay. I'll make it alright. You and me and William are going to get out of here and go home together."

"William?"

Irene's eyes misted over slightly as she nodded. "It's a boy."

Evey wanted to ask her what the plan was supposed to be. Wanted to ask who her real father was and if Irene was her real mother then. But Cobra walked back in and Evey pretended to be absorbed in her book as Irene rubbed her stomach tenderly and hummed.

Two weeks later Irene went into labour.

Evey huddled outside of Irene's bedroom door, ear pressed to the crack as Irene screamed and swore and pushed a baby out of her. Papa Jim and Sebby were inside with the doctor and the midwife to help Irene get the baby born even though Irene shouted at them over and over to leave. Papa Jim refused though, his eyes devil bright as he watched his son be born.

She only got to see little William alive once. Papa Jim had carried him around the house, pink, small, and tightly wrapped in a blanket, and showed him to everyone he could find. "This, poppet, is your replacement," he told her cheerfully, leaning down so she could better see the wrinkled thing that would turn into a person. "I've named him James Junior after his Daddy!"

Evey thought of Irene upstairs and the way she'd tenderly talked about her baby, William, and said nothing about it. Instead she cooed over Junior, admiring his tiny fingers and nose before looking up to stare her Papa Jim in the eye. "He's not going to replace me," she said firmly.

He had looked down at her, eyes glinting with interest. "Why not?"

"He's boring now. And by the time he grows up to get interesting enough I'll be even more interesting than him."

Papa Jim had clocked his head at her and looked at her oddly. "You remind me of someone," he said quietly then broke into a wide grin. Taking the baby off he left to show him off to the rest of the men he kept around the house.

It was two weeks later when she heard Irene start to scream. The sound woke her instantly, made her sit upright and clutch tightly at Basil as her eyes went to the door. Papa Jim had found out about Irene's plan to steal her away. This was going to be a repeat of the night with Paul and Josie. He was going to put her on the table this time.

But no. The screams weren't the right kind for that. Leaving Basil carefully under the covers Evey crept from her bed and down the hall to crouch at the top of the stairs. The sounds were coming from Papa Jim's study, the door slightly ajar so she could hear the words being said. Irene was shouting at Papa Jim, not screaming in pain. She was crying too, but not the sort of crying that someone getting their arm broken cried.

"You said you were going to send him to Sherlock!" Irene was screaming at Papa Jim. She said it over and over again in all sorts of different ways. "You promised you would! You bastard you promised!"

"I changed my mind," Papa Jim said in reply. "I'm going to raise him up with Evey and make them into a pair. A matched set. No use crying over spilt milk, Irene. Besides, Sherlock's higher than a kite and still stuck in Cuba. He's not fit to raise my son not even when I have the girl to hold over him."

There was a loud sound of skin hitting skin and Evey's eyes went wide. She recognized Papa Jim's bellow of rage. Irene must have slapped him. He shouted back and there were more slaps and Irene's cries changed from sad to hurt as her shouts turned to screams.

"Is this what you want?" Papa Jim screamed at her as the slapping sounds continued and Irene's cries got worse. "My cock in you again? Another baby inside you, you whore? Sherlock's not coming. He's forgotten all about you. He's forgotten about everyone!"

Evey fled back to her bedroom at the sound of tearing fabric and went to go hide under the covers, clutching Basil tight. She didn't know what was going on, but whatever was happening she didn't think Irene would be taking her away any time soon.

That night she dreamed about her real family. She dreamed about a house where there was no Papa Jim to mess things up. Where she could call Sebby 'Daddy' to his face rather than thinking it in her heart and where a nameless faceless woman who smelled like Irene baked her cookies and caressed her face. Together they wrapped their arms around her and called her name over and over. Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn.

"Evelyn."

She awoke to find Irene sitting on the side of her bed, a smile on the woman's battered face even though there were tears in her eyes. Sitting up, Evey pushed Basil down under the covers again before he could be seen by the woman. "What are you doing here?" she asked sleepily.

"I'm leaving soon, Evelyn, and I need you to do me a favor."

Irene was wet. From head to toe she was wet, her hair her clothes, everything. "You're all wet."

"That's the thing I need help with." There was a strange glint to Irene's eyes. They were shining, fever bright in the pale moonlight that came through the bedroom curtains. "T-the tub. The plug is stuck and I can't get it out. Can you help me?"

"Do you want me to get Sebby?"

Irene shook her head. "No, no. I don't want to wake him. I want you – I-I want you to take a look at it. Tell me what you think."

Evey licked her lips than slowly nodded. In her experience saying no to someone meant a hard pinch if she was lucky or a slap so hard it made her head spin if she was not. "Okay," she said quietly, pulling back the blankets.

Irene's hand clutched her shoulder as they walked down the hall to the woman's room. Halfway there, Irene started crying big wet tears that streaked down and made her bruised face go red. "It's okay," Evey said uncomfortably, reaching up to put her hand on Irene's. "Papa Jim takes good care of me. I'm sure he'll take care of William too."

Her words only seemed to make Irene cry harder. Outside of her door Irene stopped, pulling Evey close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, hands brushing through her hair. "I'm so sorry. But this will be better. He'll see. He'll understand. This is so much better."

Her feet told her to run. Her head told her to scream. But her fear told her to stay so she docilely followed Irene into her bedroom. The first thing Evey noticed was that the bathroom door was open. Steam and water were pouring out, fogging up the windows and soaking the carpet. She stared at the open doorway, trembling as Irene led her towards it, still crying apologies. She didn't want to go there. The steam was hot against her face. Looking at the overflowing bath tub Evey instantly saw the little body floating inside and at last her feet and head won. She screamed.

It was too late. Irene's hands were tight on her now. Even though she screamed and kicked, Irene was able to force her to the tub. She was able to lift her up and put her on the edge. She was able to shove her past William's too still body and into the water.

Evey clawed at the hands that were around her neck, holding her breathe tightly as she struggled to get back up to the surface. Irene's face loomed over her, huge and wavy through the water. It was clenched up in tears. She could hear her sob through her struggles, crying out how she was sorry even as Evey's strength started to fade.

Running out of breathe, Evey gasped in water. It hurt, burned all the way down. She tried to sputter and cough but it was no good. There was nowhere for the water to go and only water to suck in. The world started to go dark and it all hurt so badly that she just wanted it to end.

There was a very loud bang. Loud even under the water. Irene's hands went away and a new set of hands, bigger hands, were pulling her out of the water. Big strong hands pulled her up against a big wide, hairy chest and pounded her on the back.

"Breathe," Sebby's voice ordered firmly from somewhere far away. "Breathe, you little fuck!"

Evey coughed and vomited water all down Sebby's bare back. He didn't seem to mind, burying his face into her neck as he trembled strangely, his arms going around her tighter.

Irene was slumped in the corner, not moving. There was red splattered all across the white tile behind her. Red and little bits of dark hair and grey stuff covered the wall. William was still in the tub, underwater. She tried to tell Sebby that, but he was carrying her out of the room as more people rushed in. Sebby was shouting things, shouting orders, was holding her so tightly it hurt and she was holding him back as she cried.

"What the fuck's going on here!?" Papa Jim shouted, coming into the room. He was naked. Naked like Sebby was too and even though Evey thought she should be bothered by seeing them naked she wasn't. She just wanted to keep on breathing.

"Adler's been neutralized," Sebby said. He angled her away from Papa Jim as if he expected the younger, shorter man to do something to her. "She tried to kill the kid. I think she got the baby."

"What!?" Papa Jim bellowed. His face went purple with rage as he slammed into them, pushing them aside to get to the bathroom.

Sebby took her out into the hall. Without a word he carried her into her bedroom and ripped her wardrobe doors open. "Change," he ordered, throwing a pair of pants and a t-shirt at her. From outside her room she could hear Papa Jim start to shout. "Now, kid."

She changed quickly, hiccupping tears and trembling, but Sebby didn't yell at her for it. Instead he helped her, helped her as if she was little and still needed help getting changed, by tugging off her wet nightdress and handing her the dry clothes. When she was done he pulled back her bed blankets and handed her Basil. Kneeling before her, he smiled at her fondly and patted her on the head. He was still naked. Evey wondered why he didn't seem bothered by that at all.

"You're a good kid, you know that?" There was a loud bang from outside. The unmistakable sound of gunfire. Evey jumped and clutched Basil tighter and Sebby's eyes went hard as he looked up at the door. "Now go hide," he told her. "You know where all the spots are. Go find the best one and hide until I come get you, understand?"

She nodded frantically. The tears had stopped but she thought that if she opened up her mouth they'd all come pouring out again.

There was shouting now from outside her room. More voices than just Papa Jim's. More gunfire too. Somebody, a man, screamed.

"Run now."

She didn't have to be told twice. As Sebby wrapped a blanket around his waist and headed towards the gunfire, she went away from it. She ran to the library, Basil tight in her arms, and pushed the door tightly shut behind her. Not able to climb and hold Basil at the same time, she wedged him under her shirt, popping his head through the neck hole with hers and glad that Sebby had given her a shirt that was a little too tight for her. Nearly throwing herself at the shelves, she climbed them as if they were a ladder. The top was always the tricky part. There was a gap between the top of the shelves and the ceiling, just over a half a foot, but it was hard to angle herself properly so that she could fit in without falling first. It was harder yet with Basil under her shirt making her thicker than she actually was. She made it though, fit herself in and crawled her way to the corner, back where the shelves came together and there was more room to hide.

Pressing herself tight against the wall, she pulled Basil out from under her shirt. Laying on her stomach, she buried her face into him and cried, biting at his stomach to keep the sobs quiet. There was gunfire all through the night, loud bangs from nearby and soft pops from far away that made her jump each and every time. Eventually it stopped and Evey slept.

When she awoke everything was quiet. The room was brighter, sunlight was streaming in from outside. She was stiff and sore, her neck hurt from Irene's hands, her shoulders ached from sleeping on top of the bookshelves, she was hungry, thirsty, and needed to use the loo. Swallowing with her overly dry mouth she wondered what to do, what Sebby would tell her to do. He told her to hide until he came to find her, but with all the gunfire last night was he even still alive?

Rubbing her face against Basil's still damp stomach she waited for what felt like an eternity before she couldn't wait anymore. If nothing else she had to go to the loo and she couldn't do that up here on the shelves. She didn't want to wet herself like a baby. Leaving Basil behind, if she was killed she wanted him to be safe, she pulled herself to the edge and climbed down. Tip toeing to the library doors she opened them as quietly as she could and peered outside.

There was a dead body in the hall. She stared at it and it stared back with scared lifeless eyes. It was one of the men who worked security. She didn't know his name, hadn't even talked to him before, but she hadn't hated him either. And now he was dead.

Dead people were fine, they couldn't hurt her. Pushing the door open further, Evey stepped out into the hall, carefully stepping around the puddle of dead man's blood. She didn't have shoes or socks on, didn't want to get her feet dirty. The closest bathroom was just down the hall and she went for it. There was another dead body in the loo. He was in the corner, his arms up over his head like he'd been trying to hide. Evey picked up the bathroom rug and put it over his head so he couldn't watch her pee. Not flushing the toilet when she was done, she didn't want to make the noise, she wiped her hands on a towel and wondered what to do. She was still hungry and thirsty. She could drink out of the tap, right here and right now, and go back to the library but then she'd still be hungry. She needed food. More than that, she needed enough food to last her until Sebby came to find her. If he came to find her.

Brushing tears from her cheeks, Evey made her way to the kitchen.

She found Cobra dead in front of the front door, hand outstretched like he was trying to reach it. Sniffling, she tip toed around him. It was a bad thing that Cobra was dead. He was big and tough and he might have been stupid, but that didn't mean that she had wanted him dead. Alex was dead in the kitchen and that was alright. She kicked his body a little, making it fall off the chair it was on and hit the floor. Alex she had wanted dead. For what he'd done to Josie and Paul she had wanted him dead. Did it make her a bad person to want him dead and be happy when it happened? She wasn't sure. If she could find Sebby she'd ask him.

Grabbing a box of cereal out of the pantry (Cheerios, because Sebby would tell her not to eat anything with too much sugar), she stuffed her mouth with them until the worst of the hunger went away. Then she went to the fridge and pulled out some orange juice, sipping it to take the edge off but not drinking too much. She didn't want to have to go to the loo again anytime soon. Taking both the cereal and the juice with her she hurried back to the library.

Papa Jim was waiting for her there.

He had gotten dressed at some point, but his clothes were soaked with blood. There was a gun in his hands, loosely clutched and pointed at the floor. Rubbing at his temples, he stared blankly at her from his blood spattered face. Evey froze in the doorway. The bottle of orange juice fell out of her hands. It hit the floor and broke, the orange liquid gushing out to soak the floor.

"Come here," Papa Jim growled before her feet could listen to her brain and run.

Biting her lip and trembling, she shuffled forward.

"I said, come here!" Papa Jim screamed at her. Tears streaming down her face she jumped slightly and hurried over the rest of the way. Papa Jim eyed her carefully, looking at her from head to toe as his hand played with his gun slightly. He reached out for her and she didn't flinch away letting him pull her in close. So close she could feel the wet of blood on her cheek and smell its metallic scent. Papa Jim stroked her hair as he held her tighter and tighter and then something hard and cold was pressed against her head. She forgot how to breathe.

"Jim," Sebby's voice called from behind her. She wanted to turn and look at him, wanted to reach back for him and have him hold her, but she didn't dare move. Not when Papa Jim was holding her. "Put down the gun, Jim."

"Why should I?" Papa Jim demanded. His voice was hoarse and angry and the hard barrel of the gun was pressed so tight against her it hurt. "She ruined everything. That stupid cow ruined my game!"

"No she didn't," Sebby said. His voice was closer now, tone even as he stepped closer and closer. "We can still get Sherlock back into play."

"How!?" Papa Jim shouted. There were hot drops of wet pattering down on her head. She didn't know if Papa Jim was bleeding or crying and she didn't care much which.

"We'll send him the bodies," Sebby said. There was the brushing of fingers against her cheek and then Sebby's strong big hands were pulling Papa Jim's gun out of his hand. There was a click, the safety going back on and Evey let out a gasp, air rushing back into her burning lungs. Big strong hands pulled her out of Papa Jim's grasp and pulled her away, hiding her behind him.

She clung to Sebby, clutching his belt in her small hands and burying her face in the back of his shirt as she trembled and silently wept. Papa Jim wept loudly, wailing and sobbing like William had done. Like William never would again. Like Irene and Paul and Josie and Cobra and everyone she had ever known or remotely cared about never would again.

Even though she was crying, pressed up against him, Sebby put his arms around Papa Jim. It was Papa Jim he soothed and held and Papa Jim that he kissed the tears away from. Her own tears stopped first and she wiped her face on her sleeve as she took a step back. Papa Jim looked so small and weak and mad in Sebby's arms and right at that moment she decided that she hated him. She hated everything about him from his horrid wicked insides to his smooth well dressed outsides.

One day, she swore as her tiny hands closed into fists, she would see her Papa Jim dead.

From the way he looked at her, safely encircled in Sebby's arms, Papa Jim knew she would too.


	4. Chapter 4

For her ninth birthday, Sebby took her to Wonderland. That was what she named it because it was her birthday and Sebby said she could name it whatever she wanted. He'd sighed at the name, calling it a "Silly name for a bunker," but he'd taken a black marker and scrawled it on the inside door anyway.

'Welcome to Wonderland.'

Underneath he handed her the marker and let her draw a picture while he unpacked their bags. She drew them, her and Sebby and no Papa Jim in sight, with Basil at their feet as a real mouse. She missed Basil. Papa Jim had found him in her bed and had gotten angry. Yelling that she was too old for toys he attacked Basil with a knife. She'd screamed and tried to save her best friend, but when she'd hit Papa Jim to try and get Basil back he'd hit her right back.

He'd hit her then again and again and again until she was screaming because he was hitting her instead of screaming over Basil. He punched and scratched her, pulling at her hair with a wild look in his eyes until she fell to the floor. Then he started to kick her. Her best friend was on the floor bleeding stuffing and she was bleeding blood when Sebby had burst in.

"What the fuck, Jim!?" he'd shouted, grabbing Papa Jim and pulling him away as he moved to kick her again.

They'd fought then, Papa Jim trying to attack Sebby as the big strong man held him back. She'd whimpered as they fought, scared that Papa Jim was going to hurt Sebby but scared for Basil too. Crawling to her best friend she'd stayed quiet, tears pooling in her eyes when her arm wouldn't work and was bent at a funny angle, but at last Basil was in her grip.

Until he was wrenched away.

She'd looked up to see Papa Jim standing over her, his eyes glinting red. "You're too fucking old for fucking toys!" he'd screamed at her and marched out of the room with Basil in his hands.

Tears had leaked from her eyes. Staring at the door that Papa Jim and Basil had gone through she'd cried as Sebby had knelt next to her and cursed. "Fuck, kid. Fuck," Sebby whispered, voice gone scared as he'd hovered next to her. "Evey look at me, look me in the eyes. I need to know where you're hurt sweetie." He'd looked at her as if she were a broken china doll and surveyed her injuries. "I need to get you to the doctor. Evey sweetie I'm going to have to pick you up. It's going to hurt but I have to do it, okay?"

She'd stared at the door that Papa Jim had gone through and her tears had hit the ground. They had been pink from the blood on her face, joining the pool growing beneath her. "He took Basil," she'd whispered, eyes still on the door that Papa Jim had gone through.

"I'll get you a new one. Hell, I'll get you a dozen," Sebby had said and picked her up. He had been trying to be gentle, so gentle, but it still hurt. She'd cried out and moaned as he'd hurried and carried her through the mansion to where the men lived and the little clinic was. "It's okay," he'd whispered as he ran with her in his arms. "I've got you Evey. I won't let him hurt you again. I promise kid, I promise."

She must have passed out while he had been carrying her because the next thing she had remembered after that was waking up in her own bed. It was warm and bright in her room and the table next to her bed was covered in flowers. There were a dozen stuffed mice all sitting at the foot of her bed and she'd stared at them blankly. None had been Basil.

Sebby had been sitting next to her bed and as she had turned her face to look at him he'd smiled. "You gave me quite the scare, kid," he'd said, voice soft. "How do you feel?"

It hadn't mattered how she felt, what mattered was that Papa Jim had been mad at her for having a toy mouse and now she had twelve. And none of them were Basil. Tears flooded into her eyes as she looked up at Sebby. "Where's Papa Jim?"

"Not here," Sebby assured her and used one of his big strong hands to wipe away her tears as they fell. "I convinced him to go away for a while and he's not here. I promise, kid."

He'd been right. For six months Papa Jim was gone and life was bright again. While she'd healed slowly, it had been okay since she hadn't had to worry about Papa Jim coming in to be mean to her as she was trapped in bed. With Papa Jim gone she didn't have to worry about all the rules either. She ran through the mansion and laughed as loud as she wanted and sometimes didn't change out of her pajamas for days if she didn't feel like it. Sebby didn't mind. In fact he came up with more ideas for her to try. Together they made mud pies and played tea party and it was fun because they had real tea and Sebby made the other men in the mansion play too. She got more shooting lessons, they went camping, and just as fall was starting to create a crisp in the air, Sebby took her to Wonderland.

Wonderland wasn't much. It was a small bunker built in a hill with a big steel door hidden by foliage. They walked a long time along the river that ran by the mansion to reach it, Sebby pointing out landmarks the entire way they walked. At last they turned off from the river, he showed her the hidden door, and together they went down the rabbit hole.

Sebby showed her everything about Wonderland that trip. How to secure the door, start the generator, where the gear was stored. There was a bunk bed in Wonderland and Sebby let her have the top bunk without a fuss, helping her spread out the sheets and thick wool blanket to snuggle under that night. Sebby showed her how to reconstitute the freeze dried food and when she made a face over how gross the strawberries were he'd laughed and showed her how to fish instead. Together they built a fire and laid under the stars until she'd fallen asleep and awoken snuggled into her bunk with the wool blanket twisted around her.

It was bliss.

The next day Sebby showed her more serious things, but it was okay. He showed her where the weapons were and they went off to practice shooting. He taught her how to tie knots and showed her how to make a snare for a rabbit. Then he showed her were the big book on edible plants was and the two of them poured through it with every plant they came across until they found enough for dinner. That night it was cloudy so they stayed inside with the solar lanterns burning as Sebby showed her the GPS receiver.

"If we ever get separated I want you to come here," he said, voice serious as they sat together on his bunk. "You know the way now. Just follow the river until you find Wonderland. Go inside and lock the door and don't open it for anyone unless it's me. Got that?"

She nodded and, biting her lip, cuddled against him. "What if you don't come?" she whispered.

"You should have food and fuel enough to last you three months," Sebby said. He didn't seem bothered by her question at all like Papa Jim would have been. It was one of the reasons why she loved Sebby more. "If I don't come for you within a month I want you to take the GPS receiver here and go to town. Got that? Take a bag and pack it full of food, water, and a big knife, and follow the GPS out of the woods. The points are already programmed inside that will take you to the road, but don't accept a ride from anyone unless they're a cop. Walk to town and go to a police station and when you get there, give the officers this."

He put a small card into her hands and she peered at it closely in the dim light. There was a name and two phone numbers that seemed too long and an e-mail address. "Mycroft Holmes," she read, voice soft. His name seemed familiar or at least part of it did. "Who's he?"

"Someone who'll take good care of you and who'll make sure you're taken where you should be," Sebby said, voice serious.

"Until you can come and get me?"

He didn't answer for a long time. Instead he wrapped his arms around her and held her very, very tight. "When Jim showed you to me the first time I thought he'd gone crazy. You were just shape on an ultrasound then and I didn't want anything to do with you. But Jim gets what he wants and even though I was against it we got you. And that was the best thing that's ever happened to me. I know it's been scary and hard for you, you deserve a better life then being stuck with a mad man and an old mercenary, but I'm so glad I've had the chance to help raise you."

She wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling against his chest. "I love you, Sebby."

He squeezed her back even tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Love you too, kid."

Together they spent another two blissful days in the woods. Sebby taught her as much as he could and she absorbed what she could, beaming whenever he praised her. Her heart felt lighter than air as they walked back home, chatting cheerfully and going back over how to get to Wonderland.

As they approached the mansion they both silenced. It was obvious as soon as they laid eyes on the building that something had changed. The men who roamed the grounds were more alert, rifles in their grip and held tight. Snipers were stationed all over the roof.

Papa Jim was back.

He was smiling, grinning, as he waited for them by the main door. That was never a good sign and she hung back as Sebby bravely stepped forward to greet Papa Jim. But Papa Jim didn't even look at Sebby, he didn't look at anybody but her, his smile getting wider and wider.

"Hello poppet," he said, eyes burning upon her as she was drawn closer and closer. "Boy, do I have a surprise for you."

Sebby tried to stop it, tried to claim that they needed rest and a bath before any surprises, but Papa Jim wouldn't hear any of it. There were the men too. Armed men she'd never seen before with rifles that slowly surrounded them and didn't look to Sebby for orders. He saw them too, saw the fear on her face and Sebby's shoulders sank. "Just the kid or me too?" he asked, voice stiff.

"You can come. If you want," Papa Jim said in a singing voice as he turned away. He stopped in front of the door to the basement and turned back, his evil grin wide. She lost her breath and nearly screamed. "Come along then, poppet. Come get your surprise."

Tears were already in her eyes and for a moment she thought she was going to be sick but then Sebby took her hand in his and squeezed it tight. "Come on, kid," he said, voice gruff. "We'll go together."

She clung to him, both of her hands holding him tight as he walked towards the basement door. Practically being dragged, she choked and struggled to breathe as she stared at the door, as she remembered. Sebby stopped before they could enter the gaping maw, turning to Papa Jim. "The kid's practically having a panic attack. Can't it just be me?" She gripped him tighter. She wasn't about to let Sebby go into the basement alone. "Jim, can't we save this for another time?"

Papa Jim grinned and it was a mad grin. Madness all the way down in his horrible, horrible eyes. She wanted to scream as he turned his gaze onto her. "Go downstairs and see your birthday present, Evey."

All the panic dried up in her throat and for some reason she felt calm. She was going to die. That was all there was to it, she thought as she looked to the basement door. She was two days away from nine and today she was going to die. No cake. No presents. At least she had Sebby with her. Holding his hand tight she put her foot on the first step and stepped down. Then she did it again and then again.

It didn't get easier to descend as they went down. If anything it got harder. She could feel the weight of the house and earth settling upon them and knowing that Sebby was right behind her did no good because Papa Jim was right behind him. They stopped at the bottom and she held her breath, looking at the great steel door that locked off the basement from the rest of the mansion. Where the monsters were locked up. Where she was about to be locked in.

Sebby opened the door when she didn't. He brushed past her and entered first and she loved and hated him for it. Loved because he was checking for monsters first and hated because she was exposed again to the mad monster gaze of Papa Jim. Who was going to kill them. She didn't want to die with him looking at her.

"Come on," Sebby said gruffly and pulled her into the room. Her breathe caught in her throat and for a moment she thought she was going to scream and cry and wet herself and pass out all at the same time but then he tugged again and she was inside.

It was different then the last time she had been in there. Then it had been dark. Not dark enough to hide the blood and burning as Paul and Josie died, but walls and floor had been dark and black to the point where it looked like the entire room had been painted with blood. Now it was white. All over white. Floor and walls and ceiling and everything. It hurt her eyes a little. Back then the room had been full of things. The steel table that Paul and Josie had died on, the chairs she and Papa Jim had sat on, all those tools. Now it was empty.

Well not entirely empty. Slumped against the wall, his hands pinned up high above his head, was a man. He was skinny and dirty and really very sick looking. His chest was heaving, filling up the silence in the room with big wheezy breaths. His hair was long and dark like hers and his fingers were long. She didn't know who he was.

"Look!" Papa Jim cooed. He snatched her away from Sebby, Sebby who had frozen to stare at the man slack jawed, and spun her around the room like he had done when she was little and he was very happy. Papa Jim pushed her towards the skinny sick man and put a hand on each shoulder, squeezing to make her look. "It's your birthday present poppet! Happy birthday! A little early, I know, but I'm sure you'll forgive me!"

She stared down at the man and all she could think was confusion. She didn't know who the man was. But maybe Papa Jim had really brought her down for this? Maybe they weren't going to die. He squeezed her shoulders tight and she gasped, letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Thank you Papa Jim," she said and her eyes widened as the man moved at the sound of her voice. "He's a very lovely birthday present."

"Do you know who he is?" Papa Jim asked, bending down to hiss in her ear.

"No, Papa Jim. I don't know who he is."

Papa Jim laughed a very low laugh. "That's Sherlock. He's the Bad, Bad, BAD Man who's been following us all these years."

The Bad Man twitched and gasped for breath, not looking up and she stared at him. He didn't look like the boogeyman that Papa Jim had told her about for all those years. He looked weak and hurt, like the men Papa Jim brought in to torture. He didn't look like someone who would murder them all and rape her until she died.

Papa Jim was looking down at her, his eyes glinting. "What do you think?"

Licking her lips, she bit the inside of her mouth. "I thought he would be bigger," she whispered.

This had to have been a good answer because Papa Jim laughed and let her go, spinning away with mirth. "She thought he'd be bigger!" he laughed and his men laughed too.

All except for Sebby. Sebby reached for Papa Jim, his eyes worried. "Jim. Jim!" he hissed lowly. "We have to talk. We have to-"

"Later," Papa Jim hissed at him before spinning back to her and the Bad Man. "Don't be rude, poppet. You should introduce yourself."

She shuffled her feet. "I'm-"

"Properly," Papa Jim shouted. He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Kids today!"

Biting he lip again she took a deep breath and looked up at the Bad Man with a big grin plastered on her face. "Nice to meet you Mister Bad Man Sherlock!" she said in the most cheerful voice she could fake. "I'm Evey Moriarty!" She rhymed the words and made the little hand gesture in hopes it would make Papa Jim smile. "How do you do?"

Slowly the Bad Man looked up at her. His eyes were blue. Bright blue like water on top of snow in the sunlight. Electric blue. Just like hers. She took a step back.

"Hello Evelyn," the Bad Man said. His voice was hoarse, raspy, and deep. "I'm very happy to see you again."

"When was the last time you saw me?" she asked before she could stop herself. Freezing, terrified that Papa Jim would hit her for talking out of turn she took another step back.

The Bad Man smiled, bloody lips breaking open as the skin stretched. "The last time I saw you in person was the day you were born. It was just for a moment. You were very small and red faced and very, very upset at being taken from your mother. That's why I'm here. I want to bring you back to her. Your mother."

"That's enough!" Papa Jim growled, grabbing her and hauling her back. "We've already talked about the rules, Sherlock! No breaking them, especially not this early in the game!"

"Jim, what are the rules," Sebby asked, stepping forward. He took her away from Papa Jim, pushing her gently towards the door. "You've changed them on me too. I need to know the new rules."

Giggling, Papa Jim nodded to the man who'd followed them down into the basement. Nodding back the man turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Still giggling, Papa Jim pulled out a gun and put it into her hands. "Go on then. Shoot Sherlock."

"Jim-"

"Shut up Seb, or I'll have her shoot you first," Papa Jim spat, glaring at Sebby. Grabbing her shoulders he turned her towards the Bad Man and knelt down so that his mouth was by her ear. "Shoot him," he growled. "Or I'll skin you alive, make you into a wallet, and make Sherlock watch."

Swallowing hard, she stared down at the gun in her hands. It was a Glock 42. Just about all of the men had one, even Sebby had one, though he'd never let her shoot it. It was very, very heavy in her small hands. She knew it would shoot at .38 bullet and she knew the recoil would be bad, but she'd probably be able to do it. Sebby preferred her to use rifles and for her to lay prone on the ground for stability, but she'd gotten to practice with handguns too. Just not one that was so big.

"You can shoot me if you want," the Bad Man said. He looked up at her with those electric blue eyes and looked small as she fumbled with the gun in her hands.

She licked her lips and shifted the gun so she was holding it properly. Behind her, Papa Jim and Sebby were arguing over her shooting the Bad Man. Sebby was furious, but Papa Jim got what Papa Jim wanted and she took a deep breath. She put her finger on the trigger like Sebby had taught her and pointed the gun between his eyes. The Bad Man didn't flinch, just looked up at her as if he were one of the baby bunnies she had once found in a nest in the backyard and for a moment Evey didn't know what to do.

They'd been beautiful, her baby bunnies, so helpless and small and she'd sat in the sun and stroked their soft fur and given them each names. She told them stories from her books about other rabbits, famous rabbits, and the adventures they got into playing in cabbage fields and running from Farmers.

Then she'd heard Papa Jim calling for her.

He'd called for her to come in from outside and what was she playing with, if it was dirt she'd get a beating, so she'd filled up her hands with soft baby bunnies and drowned them in the back pond. She threw them into the dark water and as they hit they made little splashes and squeaked in a way that had made Papa Jim come out to see what she was doing. He smiled and laughed to see it, to watch with her as the baby bunnies struggled for a moment then sank and gave her a tight hug as he told her how proud of her he was. He told her that the next time she shouldn't hide, that she should run and get him and they'd have fun with the bunnies together and she'd smiled back and screamed 'No' in her mind.

After dinner and after bedtime she had cried for her baby bunnies. Had cried that they were dead and had cried for the Mama Rabbit who wouldn't know where her babies had gone. But after she was done crying she had looked up at the ceiling and felt glad. The baby bunnies were dead but at least they had died before Papa Jim could have gotten to them first.

The Bad Man continued to smile at her and his eyes were so soft. He wobbled in her vision and she knew she was crying. Big fat tears rolled down her face as she trembled. "It's okay," he whispered. He shifted his hands towards her like he was trying to reach for her, but the chains stopped him. "I'm here for you. I'm so sorry Evelyn. This is all my fault. I should have been there for you and your mother."

She'd never had a Mummy before. Just Josie who'd got her skin taken off and Irene who'd tried to kill her and who'd killed William and who'd died with her brains spread out over the bathroom. Mummys weren't all that wonderful if that was what they were like. "I don't want a Mummy," she said and the Bad Man went still.

"Your Mummy wants you," he said. Looking at her sadly and softly he smiled. "Your Mummy's name is Molly Hooper and every day I fail to bring you home her heart breaks a little more. She wants you Evelyn. She wants to make you her daughter and to love and cherish you like you deserve. She loves you."

The tears were rolling down her face now, Sebby and Papa Jim arguing louder and louder behind her. "Did you send Irene?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The Bad Man's eyes went wide and his whole body went still. He even stopped breathing.

"I liked Irene," she whispered, rubbing the tears from her face. "I liked her a lot. I liked her even though she murdered William and tried to murder me too in the bathtub. When she wasn't trying to murder me she was nice. And gentle. She loved me and William so much she wanted to kill us instead of leaving us alone with Papa Jim." She looked at the Bad Man and he looked at her with hollow eyes.

She could feel it then. The truth that was settling in around her. It was never going to end. There was no Molly Hooper Mummy that would take her into their soft arms and love her like Mummys in the story books did. There was no handsome prince or happy ending. There was just her and Sebby and Papa Jim. Them three forever. And Papa Jim was going to kill her. He'd only taken her because of the game, the game with the Bad Man, but that was ending. He wouldn't have any reason to keep her around. Maybe he'd keep her for awhile but then he'd get bored and then she would die. Horribly. And then Sebby would be the only one left with Papa Jim until he got bored of Sebby too.

The gun was in her hands. She held it tight. Looking at the Bad Man she smiled. "It was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

She fired.

Turning the gun she fired at Papa Jim, the smile still on her face. Blood spurted.

But there were no happy endings.

Sebby gasped, eyes wide. Then he fell.

Maybe it was that the gun was too heavy. She'd never shot this kind before. She didn't know it. Maybe it was that she had fired without aiming properly, that she'd fired at moving targets for once, that Papa Jim had stepped aside at just the right moment.

It didn't matter.

Sebby fell and the world shattered around her.

Papa Jim gasped, eyes going wide as Sebby hit the floor. He started screaming.

The Bad Man started to scream too. "Vatican Cameos! Vatican Cameos!" he shouted, not making any sense in her hazy world. "For the love of God, Mycroft, Vatican Cameos!"

Sebby hit the ground. He was clutching his chest. His face was scrunched up in pain. He was looking at her. She saw his lips move. "Kid," he said and then he went still.

There wasn't any sound left in the world. Just a high ringing noise that blocked out all thought.

The next thing she knew she was outside. Her chest was heaving as if she had been running and there was a gun in her hands. She stared at it, uncomprehending. It was a Glock 42. Just about all of the men had one, even Sebby had one, though he'd never let her shoot it. It was very, very heavy in her small hands. And warm. As if it had just been shot. A feeling that she had thought of that before filled her and she felt sick. Papa Jim had given her this gun. In the basement with the Bad Man. She had been told to shoot the Bad Man. Had she done it?

There was a roar and then lights were appearing in the sky. They raced towards her, towards the mansion, and she felt panic fill her. The Bad Man was there. It was time to run. Whenever the Bad Man came they had to run. Clutching the gun she looked around, tears flooding her vision. The Bad Man was there, but where was Sebby? Sebby always came to get her when the Bad Man came. She needed Sebby.

Shouting for him she ran back towards the house but the helicopters were already there. Men were jumping out of them, sliding down ropes and hitting the ground running. They were breaking into the mansion, shooting and Papa Jim's men were shooting back. Clutching the gun she turned and ran away. Ran towards the woods. As she ran she passed the pond where once she'd drowned a soft pile of baby bunnies out of despair and kindness and stopped. She clutched the gun. Then she threw it in. It made a bigger splash then a baby bunny and no squeaking noise.

Someone shouted. Someone shouted her name and she turned to see a very tall very thin man outlined by light. The Bad Man. He was in light and she was in darkness and for the moment she was invisible to him. Turning, she fled into the woods.

She ran and ran and ran. Splashing through the river and crying all the while, she fell and went under the water. She stood, fell again, and cried out. Her hands and knees were bloody. She wanted Sebby and a bandage, but the Bad Man was probably still after her. He was always after her. So she kept going, stumbling through the river because Sebby had told her once that dogs couldn't follow you if you walked through a river. She walked and walked hearing helicopters in the distance until she climbed out of the river and fell into Wonderland.

The helicopters went quiet as she shut the door behind herself. She locked it, sliding the heavy deadbolts in place before turning to the darkness. She didn't turn on the generator, didn't try to find the lanterns. Instead she found one of the heavy wool blankets in the darkness and climbed into Sebby's bunk.

In the darkness she stared at the locked door. Then she wept.

It was still dark when she woke. Wonderland didn't have any windows and she didn't know if it was day or night. She was hungry. She had to pee.

Murderers didn't get food she decided and so she laid in bed until her bladder threatened to burst. She couldn't pee in Sebby's bunk though. He'd be mad at her so she climbed out and fumbled about until she found the composting toilet Sebby said was for lockdown times. You were supposed to add stuff to it though, so it would compost instead of just stink, and she bit her lip. Sebby had taught her what to do. He'd be upset if she didn't follow his instructions. Fumbling around she found a lantern and hit the button. Light flooded the tiny room and she found the chemicals to add to the toilet.

She also found a packet of freeze dried ice cream, the only good one there was to eat, and she ate it after she'd taken care of the toilet. She should have probably washed her hands first, but she didn't have any water so she wiped them on her still damp clothes instead. Taking the ice cream with her, she climbed back into Sebby's bed and wrapped the blanket around herself. Eating slowly, she fell back asleep.

When she awoke again the lantern was off. The battery had run out. It was solar charged, she needed to stick it back outside and that was good. She was thirsty. Slipping from the bed she went to the door and slid the deadbolt open. Opening the door revealed light, sunlight so bright it nearly blinded her and water. Also helicopters. One was chopping its way overhead and she shut the door again.

Her lips were dry. She licked them. Deciding that she'd have to wait until the helicopter was gone she rummaged in the darkness until she found another package of food and carried it to bed with her. Ripping it open revealed freeze dried green beans. She didn't like them, but she ate them anyway. With nothing better to do, she wept for a while longer then fell back into sleep.

Her mouth was dry. It was what woke her. Her mouth was so dry it hurt and her tongue felt clammy. She needed water. Sebby had shown her how to use the water filtering bottles to safely collect river water. You let the water run through the charcoal filter and then you added a drop of iodine and put it in the sun just to be safe. She knew how to do it. Sitting up made the darkness swim around her though and she fell back to the bed in a swoon.

When she came back her mouth was still dry. She was panting a little and her heart was racing but she was just lying in bed. She felt like crying, but no tears would come to her eyes. Even they felt dry. She laid in the darkness and wished for water. Her mouth was so dry.

There was a knock on the door.

She looked up into the darkness where the door should have been and croaked. She had tried to call Sebby's name but her throat was dry and it was a croak instead.

Another knock. Shave and a haircut. It was how Sebby knocked every morning when he came to wake her up. Sebby was at the door.

Her limbs felt heavy but she slid from the bed. Her legs wouldn't work so she crawled towards it. Her lips were dry but licking them just made them sticky. With a shaking hand, head reeling she felt her way up the door until she reached the deadbolt. Breath heavy she tugged. Then tugged again. And again. The knocking stopped as she pulled the deadbolt free and fell back, too weak to open the door herself.

"Sebby," she croaked and he pushed the door open in answer.

The light was bright. Blinding really. It hurt her eyes and she whimpered, closing her eyes. Right before she closed them she saw it though. The big dark figure who stepped into Wonderland. He knelt by her side, gathering her up with his big hands.

"I've got you," a voice whispered and Evey wished that she had tears that she could cry. "I've got you, baby. You're safe. I promise. I've got you."

The Bad Man held her tight to his chest, hands threaded through her hair as he rocked her in his arms like an infant. Going limp, Evey let out a sigh and decided right at that moment to die.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: I have no excuses for how long this took me to get out. Well, that’s a lie. I have dozens, but none of them are very good. Just blame writer’s block. I know that there’s still unanswered questions after all of this, but having stared at it for far too long, I feel that this is finally complete and how I want to leave it.

**Year Zero**

She awoke to bright lights and white walls and for a moment she didn't know where she was. The last thing she remembered were bright lights and white walls but there had been Moriarty and Sherlock and her baby… A girl. Her daughter. She was going to name her Violet. Violet Rose after Sherlock's mother and her own grandmother. She didn't think the detective would protest. She wouldn't let him...

"Violet," she whispered. Blinking heavy eyes she rolled her head searching for a small bundle or a cot and instead met the concerned blue eyes of Mary. The woman looked as if she hadn't slept for a week, dark circles under her eyes as she held Molly's hand tight enough to bruise. She frowned sleepily at her, brow furrowed. "Mary? What's wrong?"

Mary's lips twisted and for a moment it had looked as if the normally strong woman was close to tears. "I am so sorry, Molly," she said, her grip on her hand only increasing. "I am so, so sorry."

"Why?" she asked, hovering between the desire to see her baby and sleep. She blinked slowly, casting her eyes about the room once more. "Where's my baby, Mary? Is she here? Can you get the nurses to bring her to me? I want to hold her. I haven't gotten to hold her yet."

Mary let out a gasp that was nearly a sob, looking away. Her entire body trembled.

A stab of fear coursed through her drug slowed mind and Molly's frown deepened. "Mary? Where's my baby?"

Mary wasn't able to answer her. Not properly. Instead she shook her head and went to fetch John. John who looked shell shocked and hurt as he sat next to her bed and took her hands in his. "God, Molly I am so sorry," he said and then he told her. About the little baby that had been found in the stairwell in the building where she had been held and the umbilical cord that had been wrapped around her small fragile neck.

Molly listened to him speak without a sound or question. Then she started crying. And then, when Sherlock was wheeled in to tell her what had really happened, screaming.

~O~

**Year One**

She had ordered a cake at the bakery across town. She'd never been there before. They wouldn't be able to judge. She had asked for cheerful balloons with the number one iced in the center of them and the words 'Happy Birthday Violet!' on top. It was chocolate because she liked chocolate. And when throwing a birthday party that only she would be attending it would be important to like the cake.

Mike Stamford had insisted she take the day off. He'd insisted on the whole week actually, saying she needed time to prepare and grieve what she had lost. Sometimes he'd try to speak to her about Violet and he would have this look in his eyes that made her wonder if he really knew how she felt. If he had lost a child too. But he never said and she didn't pry, taking the vacation time with a smile that never reached anywhere inside her heart.

She took a cab to pick up the cake. Hovered over it protectively as if frightened it would be ruined before the party could start and transported it safely into her flat. She set it on the counter, opened up the box, and poured herself a glass of wine.

She stared at it. Traced the cute cartoony balloon shapes with her eyes and took in its sweet form. Her gaze lingered on the name, mind searching to remember the moments she had when that little life had been in her presence. The glimpse of a small red face sobbing before it was wrapped into a blanket and whisked away from her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "Oh God, I'm so sorry baby."

Before she got the chance to move on to her second glass of wine there had been a knock on the door. Without a thought she had gone to open it, prepared to ruin the day of whoever was disturbing her, but froze when she saw the tall dark figure standing there.

"Sherlock," she whispered, eyes wide. Her heart thudded hard in her chest and her eyes darted about. "Did you-?"

"No," he said. He brushed past her, throwing his coat over a chair before stopping at staring at the cake. His lips twisted, hands clenching as he gazed down at it for a moment before his eyes finally snapped up to hers. "I've been informed that during times such as this, individuals should not be alone."

He was so transparent. It had been obvious he was there for himself and not for her, but she didn't care if he was lonely or just wanted to assuage himself of his guilt. She had been lonely too. So they sat together and stared at the cake and each other for a long time and when Sherlock finally broke and pressed his lips to hers she'd only felt relief.

They fucked.

It was hard and it was rough, the two of them tearing each other apart more than joining together. When it was all over Sherlock rolled off of her and put his back to her and she did the same, clinging to her pillow. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something, but she said nothing. Instead, she drifted off to sleep.

He was gone when she woke. The cake was gone too. That was okay. She had been planning on just tossing it into the bin.

~O~

**Year Five**

She had been expecting him. They two of them had their little ritual now and Sherlock was her only partner in it. Every year for Violet's birthday she would buy a cake and open a bottle of wine. Every year Sherlock would come. Sometimes he would tell her about his search for their missing daughter. Other times he stayed silent. It always ended with them fucking though and waking up to an empty bed.

While it wasn't healthy, she knew it wasn't, it worked for them. They were two broken people and for a single night she almost felt complete again. Sherlock was broken in the same way as her after all. When she was with him she was almost mended.

The cake was Wonderland themed. It was just the dearest little thing. Three dimensional figures of fondant and plastic represented the Caterpillar, the Queen of Hearts, the Cheshire Cat, and the White Rabbit with Alice, of course, in her blue dress standing in the center of it all. It had been a little expensive but Violet was turning five. She'd wanted something special.

Knowing that Sherlock would only roll his eyes at the sight of the cake she'd left the box closed and off to the side so he wouldn't see it at once. Then she'd opened up her bottle of wine and waited.

He hadn't been late.

As always she opened the door and her eyes darted down the hallway left and right before settling on the man in front of him. There was always hope after all. That he'd find her. That he'd bring her home. Every year she was disappointed, but that was no reason to give up hope.

This year as Sherlock pushed his way in he was smiling. He turned towards her looking more like the detective from her memories then the broken man he had become. "I have a surprise for you."

She blinked, taking a moment to shut and lock the door to her flat before turning back to him. "What is it?"

Removing a thick envelope from his coat pocket, Sherlock grabbed her hand and dragged her to the sofa. Sitting her down he poured the wine before joining her. Pressed up hot and tight against her side he handed her the envelope. "I almost got them this time," he said, eyes bright. "They weren't able to have their domicile cleaned of all traces before they escaped and I found these in one of the bedrooms."

From his words she didn't know what to expect. Hands trembling she slowly opened up the envelope before pulling out a stack of photos. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh!"

They were all family style photos. Casual looking smiling faces stared back at her and she felt her heart constrict. For in the center of every shot was a little girl with wide eyes and long black hair that fell in curls. Sometimes she was staring up at the camera, sometimes she was unaware of it as she played, and sometimes she was smiling and laughing, wrapped up in the arms of a big blond man who smiled back. Gone was the little red face she clung to in her memories. Here was a little person, a five year old, and she felt tears fill her eyes.

"It's alright," Sherlock said, wrapping an arm around her. Misinterpreting her tears entirely he smiled down at her. "Just look at them. She's alive, unharmed. Evey's alright, Molly."

Jerking, she stared up at him with wide eyes. "Evey?"

He blinked, pulling back slightly. "Evelyn. It's what Moriarty's been calling her."

Letting out a loud gasp she pushed Sherlock away and stood. The photos spilled out of her hands to litter the floor as she reached for her glass of wine. Despite her hands shaking she managed to take a long drink before turning to look at Sherlock again. "So on top of everything else, she doesn't even know her name? Her name is Violet, Sherlock. Not… not… Evelyn."

On the sofa, frozen and wide eyed he stared back at her. His hands clenched his knees, squeezing them. "We can fix that. When we get her back we can-"

"Get her back?" she laughed, voice cruel. "When the hell is that going to happen Sherlock? You've been searching for her for five years already and the most you've ever gotten of her is some bloody photos. At the rate you're going I might be lucky to see my daughter before I'm eighty!"

Sherlock winced, looking away for a moment. When he looked back to her his eyes were full of fury as he stood. "I thought you would be happy," he spat.

"Happy!?"

"Yes," he growled. Reaching down he began snatching up photos, cradling them against his chest. "Our daughter is alive. As long as she's alive she can be returned to us."

"And then what!?" she yelled, nearly wailing the words. "She won't know us. We're strangers to her. I'm a stranger to my own daughter, Sherlock! She doesn't know me and I've missed… I've missed so much." Tears were dripping down her face and Sherlock was staring at her with a haunted expression, frozen with his hands clutching the photos. "She's growing up without me! Her first laugh, crawling, walking. I've missed all of it! Those people, those kidnappers have all of her and I don't even know what her first word was!"

Letting out a sob, she wrapped her arms around herself as Sherlock continued to stare at her. "I don't know anything about her! Her favorite color, what she likes to eat, nothing! I'm nothing to her!"

"You're her mother," he said, voice firm as he glared at her. "Nothing can change that. You're her mother and I'm her father and-"

She laughed and Sherlock went silent. She said the words she'd later come to regret. "Some father you are! You can't even protect her!"

Sherlock stared at her for a long moment. Swallowing, he opened his mouth as if to speak but seemed to think better of it. The photos slipped from his fingers, a dozen memories they'd never be part of as he marched out the door. He slammed it behind him hard enough to shake her entire flat.

She sat on the sofa amongst the scattered photos and drank the entire bottle of wine. The next day she went out and came home with two. Then three. She moved to hard liquor because the wine wasn't enough and the next thing she knew she didn't seem to be able to get by without a drink or five to fortify her day.

~O~

**Year Six**

Sherlock didn't come.

She tried not to cry.

She failed.

~O~

**Year Ten**

The cake was pink with white roses, the number tenwritten on it in large purple frosting. It made her smile to see it. While it was a bit garish and more than a little bit ugly, it was perfect for a ten-year-old's birthday party. Nodding to the baker she smiled and paid after he boxed it up for her.

"I hope your little one has a very special day," the baker said and she thanked him with a smile. She didn't tell him that her daughter had been taken and was probably celebrating her birthday with a mad man. She didn't tell him that she feared her little girl was no longer alive. He didn't need to know that.

Mobile chiming with an incoming text she fumbled to free it without upsetting the box as she headed towards the tube. It was from Mycroft and she sighed to see it. She knew without looking that he was going to be chiding her for being late but she couldn't help it. It may have been Thursday, but it was also Violet's birthday. It might have been a silly thing to celebrate a birthday for a girl who wasn't there, but she wasn't about to break the tradition now.

Knowing that Mycroft would only text her again, Molly hailed a cab instead of managing the tube. The ride was surprisingly quick and she hurried inside, leaving the cake beneath the table of terrible coffee and stale cookies with a hope and a note saying 'Please Do Not Touch.' The meeting was already going on as she entered, keeping her head down as she quietly slipped in next to Mycroft.

"You're late," he murmured in greeting.

"Sorry," she whispered back, taking her seat.

The older man was twitching in his seat, the foot resting on his knee vibrating as his hands fussed with his brolly. She knew he hated the meetings, hated the dullness, the repetition of it all, and having to take the time out every week to be there, but he always came anyway. Sometimes she wondered if it was his way of trying to make up for what had happened to her. It didn't matter though. He was quite possibly the best sponsor an addict could ask for, often knowing when she was going to be tempted to drink before she did, and always watching. At first it had been stifling to know he was watching her always, knowing that he knew when she fucked up, but it had turned into a comfort. Something to live up to. Not disappointing Mycroft.

"I want you to go up and speak today," he said, voice still low. Her nose wrinkled. She hated going up and speaking in front of the audience. "Afterwards I have a surprise for you. Possibly. If it's here."

Well that was odd. She looked at him, eyebrows raised, but besides his twitching Mycroft didn't seem about to let anything slip. Considering pressing him on the matter, she decided it wasn't worth the time. The meetings were fairly short. She could wait.

Politely clapping as the current speaker finished, she raised her hand when they were all asked who wanted to speak next. Smoothing her skirt she stood and went to the front of the seated crowd. Standing in front of the small group she smiled weakly. Young and old, rich and poor, and of every race and religion they had gathered together that day like they did every week to listen and offer support. It was one of the only certain things left in her life. That they would be there. That they would listen. No matter what she said they would listen and that helped just as Mycroft helped by making sure she kept clean in the times when the program seemed impossible. "Hello, my name is Molly and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi Molly," the crowd chimed back in a multitude of voices.

Looking out over them she tried to find the words. "I've been sober one year almost to the day." There was a smattering of applause and she blushed, her fingers clutching the sober token in her pocket. "Every day's been a struggle for me, especially this time of year. The anniversary. Ten years ago today I lost my daughter."

After she finished her story there was a smattering of applause and she returned to her seat. Two more people rose to talk and then it was over. People milled together, chatting softly, going to get a refill of coffee, but Mycroft was on his feet as soon as it was over. "Come with me," he said shortly, heading towards the door.

He was in such a hurry she almost forgot the cake. Sheepishly she held it on her lap as they rode through London in one of Mycroft's expensive town cars. She had expected that he would look at the cake with scorn, expected him to berate her silliness but instead he seemed relieved. Traffic was just as horrid as it always was, but soon enough they were pulling up in front of a building Molly had only been to once before. The day she'd been kidnapped by Mycroft's men and held by him until she sobered up and he'd given her the ultimatum. Stay sober or loose what little she had left. To help her decide he'd given her a video. A shaky home shot one by a man with a deep voice as her daughter struggled to ride a bike without training wheels. Through tears she'd made her decision the moment she heard her daughter's laugh for the first time.

She turned to Mycroft. "Why are we at your home?" she asked.

Shaking his head, he mutely opened the door and helped her out. After taking the cake from her he led her inside before gesturing towards the stairs. "Go up," he said, voice soft. His eyes were soft too as he looked at her, seeming almost nervous. "Please forgive us."

A chill ran through her as she looked at the stairs and then at Mycroft. Again she considered pressing, but his lips were too tight, too strained for that. So instead she ascended. Slowly.

~O~

Evelyn awoke to a bedroom she didn't recognize. Sunlight streamed in through the open window and she blinked, feeling weak and tired. There was a needle in her arm. It was taped down so it wouldn't fall out with a plastic tube leading up to a clear bag on a stand. She stared at it for a long moment wondering if it was poison, but she was still alive so it probably wasn't that. Rubbing her face she stared at the needle in her arm for another long moment before reaching out to touch it.

"Don't do that," a deep male voice said and she froze. "You're suffering from dehydration. If you rip the needle out you'll still be dehydrated and start bleeding on top of that."

The voice didn't speak again after that. Slowly, she rolled over to see the Bad Man huddled on a chair, his arms around his knees and wrapped in a big black coat. His face was pale and sweaty as he gazed back at her, eyes dull. She stared at him for a long moment before finding the courage to speak. "Are you going to kill me now?"

"No," the Bad Man scoffed.

"Rape me?"

"Never."

"Bleed me and drink my blood?"

"No," he said firmly. He shifted a little in his seat, eyes narrowing. "Why would you think I would do any of those things to you?"

"Papa Jim said you would."

"Well, 'Papa Jim' wasn't your real father," the Bad Man growled. "I am. I am your father Evelyn and I will do none of those things to you. If anything I intend to go out of my way not to harm you."

She nodded slowly, eyes going to the duvet on the bed. It was green and quilted with tiny little flower patterns running through it. It looked like summer. She liked it. "Is Papa Jim dead?" she asked in a small voice.

The Bad Man looked at her and she could feel the heat of his gaze as he did. "Not yet."

She nodded again, feeling a knot fill up in her throat. "Is Sebby dead?"

There was silence for a long moment. "I don't know," the Bad Man finally said, his voice a sigh.

Before she could start crying or the Bad Man could say another word the door opened. She shrank back from the tall man who walked in. He stopped to stand next to the Bad Man, eyes flitting across her before landing on him. "Sherlock-"

"Ah, Mycroft!" the Bad Man said, leaping to his feet. He whirled about, a smile on his face that didn't reach his glassy eyes. "So good of you to join us. It's that time then, I suppose."

"Yes," the older man, Mycroft said. His lips were tight as if he was displeased by something but neither of his hands were trembling so he wasn't about to hit anyone. That was good. "The orderlies are waiting for you downstairs."

The Bad Man nodded and for a moment his shoulders sank. He looked to her and his face was haunted and full of sorrow. "You'll… You'll take good care of her?"

"No harm shall come to her," Mycroft said firmly. Slowly, he reached out and touched the Bad Man's shoulder, squeezing it tightly. "After you're well you can come back and see for yourself."

The Bad Man stared at her for another long moment before nodding again. Turning his gaze to Mycroft he stared at him for a moment before suddenly diving for the older man. Her breath hitched and she thought she was going to scream but the Bad Man only hugged Mycroft, squeezing him so tightly his arms trembled. "Thank you," she heard him whisper.

Mycroft seemed lost for a moment but then he put his arms around the Bad Man and hugged him back. "I'll see you in three months," he murmured, as the Bad Man released him. Watching at the Bad Man shuffled out, shutting the door behind him, Mycroft sighed before turning back towards her and the bed. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. My name is Mycroft Holmes. I'm your uncle. You may call me what you wish though I encourage 'Uncle Mycroft.'"

She stared at him for a long moment before wetting her lips. "Sebby gave me a card with your name on it once," she said, voice soft.

"Really?" Mycroft looked intrigued, putting his hands in front of himself but not moving closer to the bed. She was glad for that. She would scream and probably cry if he moved closer. "Do you happen to know why?"

"He said it was for if I ever got separated from him. That you would be able to take care of me."

Mycroft gazed at her for another moment before nodding. "He was correct then. I shall be taking care of you until you can be returned to your mother."

She frowned, nose wrinkling as she looked down at the duvet. The Bad Man had said that too, that she'd be going back to her mother, but she really didn't know if she wanted one of those or not. Really, she would rather go back to Sebby. Minus Papa Jim of course. Grabbing big handfulls of blanket she looked over to Mycroft. "Is Papa Jim alive?" she asked again.

Mycroft nodded slowly. "Yes, he is."

"Is Sebby?"

There was silence for a long moment and then Mycroft frowned. "I haven't checked recently."

She nodded. Looking back at the duvet she took a deep breath. "When Papa Jim dies can I be there?"

"Why?" Mycroft asked, and it sounded like there was a little bit of surprise and horror in his voice. His face had gone hard too, not looking happy. "Why would you want to be there when Moriarty is executed?"

She turned her gaze back to him. "To make sure he's dead."

Mycroft stared at her for another long moment before nodding slowly. "I'll consider it," he murmured before turning to go. Pausing at the door he looked back to her. "I'll be sending a tray of food up with a female nurse shortly. Please eat all of it. Additionally, there is a book on the table next to the bed that contains information about your mother and pictures. If you have any questions please do not hesitate to call for me." He waited until she nodded and then he was gone.

She looked at the closed door. Then she looked at the window. The room was two stories up. If she jumped out she'd be hurt, probably even die. That is, if she could even get the window to open. By the window there was another door in the wall, probably to the loo. There was a big wardrobe against one wall, a big fireplace, and a small stack of stuffed animals in the corner. None of them were mice.

It was just like the mansion then, she thought to herself as she laid back down on the bed. She curled up into a small ball, putting her arms around her legs. Only it was worse than the mansion because she probably wouldn't be allowed to go outside and play. And there was no Sebby to play with.

With nothing to do and her chest so heavy she could barely breathe she looked at the needle in her arm again. Picking at the tape she hissed as she drew the needle out of her arm. Clear liquid beaded at the tip of the needle and she stared at it before dropping it off the edge of the bed. The tube went with it and a small puddle began to form on the floor. She hoped she wouldn't get beaten for it. She was bleeding now but it was only a little. She'd bled much worse before. Papa Jim had made her bleed much worse.

Rolling over, putting her back to the windows she looked at the book on the table next to her bed. It was a picture album. The kind Sebby had showed her once that had been full of pictures of her before Papa Jim took it and got rid of it somewhere. She closed her eyes, deciding that she didn't care about the stupid album. She didn't care about stupid mothers. She wanted to go home.

The door opened again and she stiffened, eyes going wide. It was Mycroft again. He looked at her for a moment before approaching the bed. "I almost forgot," he said, stopping short of touching the mattress. Hesitating, he pulled a stuffed animal out from behind his back and set it on top of the duvet. "This was sent to us a few months ago. It was badly damaged, but Sherlock insisted it be repaired."

Her eyes filled with tears. It was Basil. Hand trembling, she reached out and slowly drew her mouse to her chest. Basil had been sewn back up, soft grey fabric replacing all the fur he'd lost and more full of stuffing then he'd had in a long time. Both of his eyes were back and they were glass and pretty and grey and he had a nice long grey tail now. But despite all the changes he was still Basil and she still knew him. Burying her face in the grey fabric she let out a sob and held him close.

The man who said she was her uncle stood at the edge of the bed with her until the tears dried. As a plump woman in scrubs came in with a tray of food, Mycroft smiled at her in a way that seemed almost nervous as he clutched the brolly in his hand. "Please remember what I said and eat all the food," he said, an odd tone to his voice. Reaching over he picked up the album and set it next to her. "Look at the album too. Please."

Gazing up at the odd tall man she nodded slowly as the nurse began to fuss over her. Gently, the nurse chided her for pulling out the needle but stopped it dripping all over the floor. The nurse said that so long as she finished all her juice she wouldn't need the needle in anymore and that was okay. She liked juice.

Picking at the tray she ate every bite of food and drank every drop of juice even though it made her stomach roll. Doing it made the nurse happy. It would make the man who said he was her uncle happy too and then maybe he wouldn't hit her. Maybe he'd even send her home. If there was a home to go back to.

With Basil secure in her arms she felt a lot better. Queasy, but content and warm in a way she usually only got when Sebby was around. Her eyes prickled with tears and she sniffled and reached for the book. If she didn't want to be hit she had to do everything the man wanted and he wanted this.

The book was full of pictures, most of them in black and white. Some of them were of the Bad Man. He looked smug and self satisfied in most of the pictures, with a funny hat and the collar of his big black coat popped up. It made him look silly. Other pictures were of a woman with long brown hair who wore baggy clothes. She looked sad all the time. As the pictures went on the woman got sadder and sadder and her clothes got bigger and bigger even though she seemed to get smaller. At the end of the book there was a picture of the woman from when she was happy. The woman was wearing spectacles and had a funny awkward smile on her face as she looked at the camera.

'Your Mother,' was written underneath the glasses picture. 'Molly Hooper.'

She looked at it for a very long time. Then she showed it to Basil, just in case he hadn't been paying attention. "This is my mother," she said, voice quiet. "She's not as pretty as Irene." Flipping back through the pages she frowned at one that made her mother look like she was made out of elbows and edges. "She doesn't look soft like Irene either. Do you think she'd hit me? Irene never did. Not until she tried to drown me."

The mouse said nothing and she frowned down at him. "She looks sad like Irene did," she continued. Laying back in the bed with her friend and her book she flipped through the pages again and again. Her Mother Molly Hooper looked sad like Irene had right before she'd killed William. But it was a different kind of sad. She knew it was different because they looked different. Irene had looked as if the worst thing in the world had happened to her and there was no way out. That from then on things would only get worse and worse, and she had been right, so there was no reason to wait for the future.

Her Mother Molly Hooper looked as if there was a future. She could see it in some of the pictures in the edges of her eyes. Her eyes were soft. Papa Jim's eyes had always been hard, Irene's eyes had been slack, but her Mother Molly Hooper's eyes were soft. Like Sebby's.

"I don't think she would hit me," she whispered and wondered at the strange feeling that brought her.

"Violet?"

She started, clutching Basil tight as she sat up. Her Mother Molly Hooper was standing in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and there were tears in the edges. Her eyes were soft. Her Mother Molly Hooper was staring at her like she was something she couldn't believe, like she was something precious.

She licked her lips. "My name is Evey Moriarty," she said, voice soft. She let go of Basil enough to do the hand movements that had once made Papa Jim smile and laugh. Her Mother Molly Hooper didn't smile or laugh. Instead she gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks as she covered her mouth with a hand. Her Mother Molly Hooper continued to stare at her as if she was precious and she held Basil tighter.

"That's what Papa Jim called me at least," she said, looking at the other woman as she stood in the doorway and cried. There were a host of strange thoughts swirling around her head, each stranger then the next. She wondered if her Mother Molly Hooper knew any songs. If she could be soft with soft hands that petted instead of pinched. If she would be willing to give hugs. There was an odd ache in her chest as she wondered if there was a place with a bedroom where she didn't have to hide Basil that she could call home. If Sebby could be there too.

She met the soft eyes of her Mother Molly Hooper. She smiled.

"I like Violet better though."

~O~

He was staring at the wall when Mycroft came in. It was white. There were thirteen imperfections in the wall, twenty-two cracks in the ceiling, and three of the tiles on the floor needed to be replaced. The tremors had mostly stopped. That was progress. He heard the scrape of a plastic chair being dragged up and then the thump of someone sitting in it and knew that this was to be a long visit.

His brother could wait hours until the other person spoke first so he decided to cut the torture short. "How's the child?"

"Recovering well," Mycroft said, voice calm and even. "Physically she's completely recovered though Miss Hooper reports she still suffers from nightmares. Her therapists have hope though. While they believe she'll always suffer from trust issues, they believe that she'll recover enough to be able to form significant bonds with the people around her."

That was good. Very good. He closed his eyes and felt a weight lift off his chest. "And Molly?"

"Like night and day. She's still attending her weekly meetings with AA, but she hasn't been tempted since Violet was returned to her. I've insisted that she attend therapy as well as an individual and she's also going to a group session with Violet. It's done her well though. She's gained five pounds already. Though she insists it's only two."

Another weight off and he could suddenly breath again. Sitting up slowly, he turned and met his brother's eyes. "And me?"

"Your doctors say you're doing well," Mycroft said, saying nothing he didn't already know. "You should be released in a few weeks."

He shook his head. "That's not what I wanted to know."

Mycroft looked at him for a long time before sighing and looking away. There was a pain in his chest so sharp that for a moment he felt the need to look down to make sure he wasn't bleeding. There had to be news. Good news. He had found the girl, recovered her, brought her home. Molly Hooper had only ever asked him for three things and he'd finally fulfilled the last one. She had to forgive him now. Had to love him again. The world spun around him and he saw a future of emptiness as he spied on other people's home snap-shots and he wondered if this was what normal people felt when they started weeping.

"There's progress, though it's slim," his brother finally said. He stared at him until Mycroft found the words to continue. "Violet still refers to you as the Bad Man with Moriarty as Papa Jim. She does however recognize that you're her true father and you've done nothing bad. It's just that she's been well conditioned by Moriarty through pain and suffering and that's proving difficult to break through. Molly, well, I do believe that Molly's nearly ready to forgive you. For taking so long to find Violet at least."

"But not for loosing her in the first place or leaving her to Moriarty," he said. There was hollowness in his chest. A dull ache that had drawn him to cocaine a hundred times.

A hand touched his and he looked up. Mycroft was touching him. Mycroft was staring into his eyes and his gaze was filled with more emotion than he knew his brother was capable of producing. "It's a start," he said and his voice was confident. Firm.

He licked his lips. Eyes traveled down to the hand on his and he turned it to capture his brother's hand in his own. He squeezed it gingerly and some of the hollowness went away when Mycroft squeezed back. Closing his eyes he nodded slowly.

"Yes. It's a start."


End file.
